


A Memory Of Green

by AugustPendragon



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Development, Desert, F/M, Goblins, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Multi, Orgasm Control, Original Fiction, Original Universe, Piercings, Pirates, Politics, Rape, Royalty, Self-Sacrifice, Sexual Slavery, Threesome, Twins, War, Worldbuilding, warlord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 176,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22171768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustPendragon/pseuds/AugustPendragon
Summary: He was a burst of gold in a land of verdant green; a boy born into a paradise on the edge of the world, where water and grass were, and always were, and always would be.Until the Goblins came.Until he came, and brought the hell of the desert with him.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31
Collections: A Memory Of Green





	1. Chapter 1

With a harsh tug of the rope wrapped around his neck he tumbled forward, and with a harsh smack of a wooden stick to his back he was kept from struggling away. His protest fell on deaf ears as he was herded forward and onto the tall wooden platform. The last boy to step on it before him had already been thrown down and into the waiting arms of a grinning man. Once in place a harsh smack to the back of his knees sent him tumbling down onto them, and before he could quite straighten up there was a rough tearing sound, and the rags he’d been given had been torn off him. He shuddered, letting out a weak whimper as his eyes began to water.  
Even then he could still see them, the many greedy eyes that had fixed on him as soon as he’d been brought up, murmurs rising to drown the frightened whimper that escaped him.  
“Ladies and gentleman we’re closing the auction with our best product by far—young and healthy, fit for breeding! Has never been owned or used before, the boy’s as pure as he’s pale. He still has all his teeth and knows how to read and write, in case it interests you.” But none of them seemed interested in the least in that last fact.  
“A thousand golden coins!”  
His eyes darted towards the sound of the voice, his eyes locking with those of a blond man greedily rubbing his hands together.  
“N-no,”  
“We’ve got a thousand gold ladies and gentlemen, who gives two thousand?”  
“A thousand and one!”  
“A…thousand and one? Come on people the boy’s worth far more than that! Who gives two thousand and TWO? You the pretty lady over there! This one would make a wonderful pair for the slave at your side, what do you say?”  
“Three thousand gold and five hundred silvers!”  
“There we go ladies and gentlemen, who gives more? Who’s gonna be the kid’s lucky owner?”  
“No! Stop that you can’t sell me I’m not a slave!-“ A harsh smack to his face quieted him and sent him down against the floor. But not for long, the seller reaching down a grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking him upwards, coaxing a sob from him that no one seemed to be paying attention to.  
“Don’t worry people, he’s resistant to top it all, see? Not a scratch on that perfect little face! Surely that’s worth at least five thousand golden coins?”  
The bids kept rising higher and higher each time, the crowd bickering and beginning to push, tears streaming down his cheeks as he closed his eyes, the hand still roughly pulling at his hair, even while he was still forced onto his knees, forcing him to arch as the man grabbing him urged the bidders higher.  
He did not want to see as people fought over the right to own him, to buy him like an animal. He could still recognize the voice of the first bidder, throwing higher numbers and sounding angrier each time, as well as many others, although they kept slowly disappearing one by one, and dread filled him as he remembered the faces that had stared at him. Each one had been greedy and cruel, not a drop of pity in those merciless eyes.  
The person--or thing, he couldn't tell what it was behind all the furs it wore--that was grabbing at his hair continued to jerk him upright, the thing's own voice rising in pitch as the cries of the crowd grew louder and louder. Even as the number of bidders thinned further and further, the viciousness in the voices of those remaining grew stronger, making up for the silence of their poorer  
companions.  
In time, there were only two voices left. His eyes remained clamped closed, but he could recognize them, despite that he had only first heard them a few minutes prior. The man who had first bid, the one with the wicked eyes, and the woman who already possessed a slave.  
"Seven thousand gold!" That was the man's voice, shrill and irate. It was a sharp price increase over the previous bid. The boy waited for the woman's voice to rise up in answer, the insane amounts of money they were spending to possess him meaning nothing, only the terror of who he would be given to rising in his thoughts.  
But this time, the woman did not respond.  
The thing clutching his hair shook him slightly, let out a jeering sneer.  
"Come on, miss, you're not going to let him win, are you? Surely it's worth a bit more gold to see him and your other pretty blonde nestled up together?"  
"Oh, piss off, Girik!"  
The male bidder--the pervert--no, the worst of many perverts--seemed to realize what this meant, and he promptly let out a triumphant screech, jumping up from his seat and strutting elatedly back and forth down the aisle.  
"Yes, yes, YES! You heard me, bitches, the boy is MINE! Ahahaha--"  
"Eight thousand gold."  
There was a pause, but then the announcer jumped back into the spirit of things, grinning elatedly from behind his heavy cloak.  
"Eight thousand, my friends! Going once!"  
"NONONONO!"  
"Going twice!"  
"NO FUCK HE WAS MINE NO NO NO FUCK NO--"  
"SOLD! Eight thousand gold, boy goes to the newcomer! And that concludes our show, ladies and gentlemen; hope to see you all at the next meeting!"  
The man's angry shrieks continued, the sounds of a tussle, the shrill cries of outrage diminishing, as if the screamer were being hustled out of the room. And still the boy did not open his eyes. Didn't open them until he found himself shoved roughly off the stage, landing in the arms of the one who'd spoken the final number.  
A powerful arm curled around his waist, and a strong, calloused hand closed gently around his chin, tilting his face upwards. He looked up to find the face of a man, a decent amount older then him but still young, well-muscled and with long white hair tied up behind him. His eyes were burning and green and hungry.  
"It's alright, you dear little thing. Your master is here now."  
For a moment then the boy remained still in his hold, feet dangling inches from the floor as the stranger held his naked body awfully close.  
He whimpered, and the sound of his own broken voice seemed to startle him. A moment later he began wiggling, struggling fitfully in the man’s hold. His hands had been tied tightly behind his back, which restrained him from pushing himself away from him, but still he insisted, slamming his head harshly against the stranger’s chest, attempting to pry himself free in that way.  
“N-no no no no! Let me go—I’m not a slave, you’re all wrong! I have a family! They’re waiting for me m-my parents…t-they’ll pay you back I swear, b-but you have to let me go, I’m not a slave, they kidnapped me and put me here but I’m not..p-please let me go”  
The man did not immediately answer. Instead, he adjusted his grip on the boy, swinging him up and around so that one arm was beneath the boy's knees while the other was under his shoulders. This new hold effectively quelled much of the boy's squirming, the young blonde unable to do much but cry in protest and wriggle weakly as he felt himself being carried toward the exit.  
Even as he walked, the man's eyes were roaming quite openly across the boy's body, a sight that created quite the sinking sensation within the kidnapped one.  
They emerged into the outside air quite suddenly, and the boy stiffened and shuddered as the viciously cold air swept over his naked skin. The man carrying him was well-dressed, and did not seem affected in the slightest. He marched forward towards a group of men on horses, approaching an unclaimed black stallion and then finally coming to a pause, handing the protesting boy off to another man standing nearby.  
Once the buyer had gotten atop his horse, his purchase was handed back to him, the squirming boy soon bound neatly to the horse's back, as if he were any other bit of merchandise to be carried home.  
That was when he felt a thick fur blanket being settled over him, the rider--his purchaser--carefully securing the thing atop him with more rope. The warmth was welcome against the cold, but the lack of a response from the man was terrifying, and the boy looked up at him with fearful eyes as he adjusted the blanket.  
The man noticed this, and paused in his work to offer him a gentle smile.  
"Whatever you were before, you are my slave now, and you are worth more to me then much more gold then I parted with. You will miss your old life for a while, but I assure you that so long as you obey me, you will soon find yourself more than happy to call me master."  
He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately, and with that and a sharp crack of the reins he was off, his men following after him, a whole fleet of dark horses running on swift legs beneath the desert moon.

For a long moment after they’d taken off, the boy only stared with wide terrified eyes at the calm face of his kidnaper, his violent shudders masked under the horse’s trotting.  
Ah, he felt sick.  
Yesterday he’d been at home, spending time with his family and keeping up with his studies, yesterday he’d been safe, he’d been happy, and today…  
Today he had lost everything he’d ever had, or ever would.  
A sob broke from him, and then another, and he slumped tiredly down against the horse, shifting uncomfortable when he felt something hard pressing against his belly.  
They rode for a long time, and then they rode for a longer time still. The moon shifted lazily overhead, and the jostling of the horse's galloping grew almost so familiar that he could sleep... almost. Whenever exhaustion threatened to pull him into darkness, there'd be a particularly rough bump, or the strange hardness would suddenly stab into his side again, or the horrorifying fact that this  
nightmare was real would jerk him awake again. As such, he gained no rest, but stayed half-awake and blurry-eyed throughout all of the long journey.  
When he first saw their destination, he thought it was nothing more then another sand dune in the distance, a continuation of the eternal desert he found himself trapped in. But as the group charged on, the thing began to take form. Tents--large tents, tents the color of sand, tents without number. Enough tents to house an army.  
It was into this mass that they drew, running on and on past the makeshift housing. They were more secure-looking than the boy would have guessed, walls planted firmly into the sand, tents that could be moved at a moment's notice but generally had no need to. As they rode past them, more and more of the group began to split away, until finally only the boy and his captor remained.  
They were approaching a structure far larger then the rest, settled in the middle of the camp, and at first the boy thought it was a mansion. But as they drew nearer, he was surprised to see that it, too, was a tent, impossibly large, and with all the edges reinforced with thick walls of interlaced stone. Numerous armed men stood watch along these borders, and they gave respectful nods to the man  
as he drew close.  
In short order the man dismounted, untying his purchase and carrying him inside as one of the guards took charge of his horse. The young blonde's eyes widened in disbelief at the sight that awaited him within.  
The canvas-walled room housed wonders his farming family could never have dreamed of. Fine paintings and sculptures lined the walls, held up on delicate wooden frames, and cages filled with exotic birds dangled from hooks set into the ceiling. Even the floor was beautiful, covered in a thick and expensive-looking rug with scenes of grandeur woven into it. The whole scene was lit by a few lanterns  
set on raised stands placed throughout the room, casting an enchanting air to the already magnificent scene.  
The boy's attention was disrupted by voices.  
"Welcome home, master Raphael."  
Several men and women in servant's clothing had appeared out of the gloom, and all bowed their heads in respect to their lord. The man--Raphael--answered with a curt nod, and then he was continuing forward, slipping inside another of the mansion's rooms. It was a bedroom, by the look--fine pillows and blankets littered the floor, and the light was duller there.  
But what most caught the boy's eye was the massive golden cage in the room's corner, large enough to house a person--or several.  
That was when he felt himself being settled down, the man placing him atop the pile of cushions and blankets before crouching beside him, still smiling softly.  
"So you see, this shall be your new home--"  
He paused, cocked his head to the side.  
"...But I do not yet know your name."  
The boy looked uncertainly, wearily up at him before he answered, his voice barely rising above a whisper.  
“…A-Alphonse….my name is Alphonse” He murmured, deciding it would do him no good to keep quiet, and finding some small comfort on the fact that the man hadn’t tried to give him a name of his own as if he were a dog.  
However he did not trust the man on the slightest—he had already made it clear that he thought he owned him, and no amount of money would convince him otherwise. He wriggled back as best as he could, deeper into the pillows and blankets and away from him, keeping his eyes on him at all moments.  
“Are you a m-mercenary? If you don’t want money, t-then what about lands? My family owns plenty, and they’re green and fertile and more than enough to hold you and your people, the crops are the best around and my parents will be so grateful if you bring me back they’ll even show you how to tend to them so p-please, please take me home…I-I’m not good with chores, I’d be a horrible servant, and I don’t know how to fight, the lands you’ll gain will be worth much more than anything I could ever do as a servant” He babbled on and on, gambling for his freedom as soon as he could, offering anything and everything he could think of.  
The man's expression remained the same no matter how the boy babbled in, a knowing smile, wandering eyes. It was not a vicious expression, nor a disgustingly greedy one like the first man's had been, but there was still something piercing and eager about it that unsettled him. Yet still he continued to blabber, going on and on until finally the man raised a hand.  
"Alphonse... that's a pretty name. And what you've told me about your home explains why you don't know who I am."  
He moved to stretch out beside the boy, leaning lazily back against the pillows. Alphonse did not appreciate the closeness, tried to squirm away, but an arm wrapped around his shoulders stopped him.  
"I am not a mercenary, but rather a warlord, one of the most powerful this pitiful country has ever seen. My word is law, my soldiers death, and my slaves the finest jewels."  
Still that knowing smile, and he brushed a hand gently down the blonde's cheek, making the boy wince.  
"You seem to know a little about slavery, Alphonse, but I am going to teach you a little more. There are many sorts of slaves in the world. There are those who work and fight, as you say. But I already have men who will work and fight for me. And there are slaves who farm land, like the people of your home do. But I could force any crushed opponent to be a farmer."  
Alphonse stiffened and looked downwards as he felt the man's fingers curling into the fur covering him.  
"But what I cannot do, Alphonse, is take an ugly thing and make it beautiful. I could conquer all the lands of the earth, and make farmers or soldiers or workers as I wished, but I could do nothing to make a misshapen and filthy person into a piece of art. And so I must search far and wide for those rare beauties that the earth has produced on its own. Little gods and goddesses of delight made  
flesh... just like you, Alphonse. Do you understand?"  
The hand began to slowly draw away the furs, revealing inch after inch of skin.  
His reaction was to reach for the fur, clutch it to himself and away from the man’s grip, but his hands were wound securely behind his back, and all he managed to do was jerk clumsily as it was drawn entirely off. He whimpered, then pushed himself backwards, and the arm that had been holding him in place until now let him go, the boy getting away until he’d gotten out of arm’s reach by the man.  
His grey eyes were fixed on him, fear growing in them as well as confusion, and it was clear to the man that the boy had not understood what he wanted from him, but whatever it was he did not want to comply. The boy nestled himself behind some of the pillows, hiding away his nakedness as best as he could, keeping his legs pressed together to help with that.  
“D-don’t touch me, I…I-I don’t…know what y-you’re talking about—stay away!” He snapped, never taking his eyes off the man even as he began struggling uselessly against his bonds.  
“People are not—things you can keep, I’m not a jewel or anything like that, I have a home and a family waiting for me, and it’s not here with you just so you can show me around or keep me locked up or whatever weird thing it is you think you can do, let m-me go” He said, demanding even as his voice broke, tears rising to his eyes for reasons he did not know.  
The man's expression softened at the boy's whimpers, but while it had grown gentler it still looked a far cry from repentant. He shifted closer to the boy, and this time he did not suffer the blonde's attempts to wriggle away, wrapping an arm securely around his shoulders and holding him still.  
"Shhh, shhh, don't cry. I will treat you so well, and you will have to do so little in return."  
Alphonse wasn't certain what he had expected his captor to do next. Perhaps lock him away in the gilded cage, or parade him around in front of his men like some exotic pet. However, whatever half-formed ideas he had in his mind, none of them matched what occurred next.  
Raphael shifted, and quite suddenly he was atop the boy, straddling him, his hips pressing against the younger male's bare flesh. Alphonse felt again that strange hardness, poking firmly into his belly, but he hadn't long to ponder it before his kidnapper's lips closed firmly over his.  
The boy had simply frozen up when he had pushed him back against the pillows and crawled atop him, confusion overpowering fear for one brief second as he stared up at him with those wide gray eyes of his, as if he could find the answer to his questions if he stared hard enough. But that stillness was rapidly broken as soon as he pressed his lips against the boy’s own, the little thing gasping, conveniently giving him access, and he did not waste the chance. He sampled the boy’s mouth thoroughly, shivering eagerly when his caresses were met with a muffled cry from the blond trapped beneath him.  
If the boy had not been naked, he would have found it hard not to simply tear whatever sort of clothing he’d been wearing, but as it was, his hands found no barrier when they reached for his skin, slowly stroking a hand up the blond’s tight, his skin soft and warm against his touch. His other hand moved upwards to curl up on the boy’s pale hair, but before he could do so the boy tore away from him, tearing his face to the side and parting their lips and barely wasting a second before he spat, his small body twisting and struggling beneath him with far more energy than he’d seen him use so far, indicating he wasn’t as exhausted as he’d previously assumed.  
The boy kept his face twisted away from his as he took one ragged breath after another, but he made sure to watch him from the corner of his eye, one narrowed grey eye fixed on him as the boy finally regained his breath and bared his teeth, grinding them together as he let out some sort of shaky growl. Huh, the seller had been right, he had excellent teeth.  
Fear had crept back in, but it was still overpowered by something else as he glared at him, and the boy did nothing to hide the disgust in them.  
“D-don’t touch me y-you disgusting…y-you…y-you aa-aah—how could you do that?! Get off! I’m a boy—Alphonse is a boy’s name! you bought the wrong slave, n-now let me go and get away!” The boy hissed angrily, jerking again beneath him in another useless attempt to shove him off.  
Ah... well, if the boy was startled, the man was startled as well, although his surprise was of a more delighted nature. Truly the seller hadn't been lying; the boy was as innocent as the green lands he had come from. It had taken him such a blunt action to start to understand the truth, and even then he was still so...  
He felt almost slightly guilty that he was enjoying it so. It would have been better, for the both of them, if the boy had been a bit /less/ naieve. And yet at the same time he couldn't help but feel the heated arousal growing in his groin, the thought of training the boy from scratch and savoring his innocence in the meanwhile pleasing him in all the wrong ways.  
...But he would be gentle. That briefest bit of pity was the only morality the warlord had to muster, but he had never been known for ethics, and to him it was justification enough.  
His initial thoughts of teasing the boy and pretending like he hadn't known were discarded both due to the fear in his slave's eyes and due to his growing impatience. Instead he only offered up another smile.  
"No, you are the right slave. Your body may be small, Alphonse, but it was very clear to everyone in the market what you were."  
The boy's hisses and struggles abruptly ceased, paralyzed, as the man's hands closed ever so gently around his sex, lifting it carefully, stroking.  
"No female ever had one of these, after all."  
“Stop!” His voice rose in pitch, sounded decidedly panicked and horrified at the same time. His eyes fixed downwards, as if he needed further confirmation of what he was doing to actually believe it. But a brief look was all the convincing he needed, and he rapidly looked away, closing his eyes shut as tears began running down his cheeks yet again.  
When the man ignored his demands he jerked violently beneath him, trying to kick him, but his captor’s weight kept them easily pinned down, his arms still securely tied behind his back, leaving him with nothing to defend himself other than try and press his tights together to hide his body as best as he could. He was lucky not to see the pleased smile in Raphael’s eyes as his hand was enveloped in the supple skin of his warm thighs, manhood still held gently in his fingers.  
He watched with fascination as the boy twisted and arched at the smallest shift of touch, the most gentle of squeezes, his breath catching in his throat only to be released in a miserable moan shortly afterwards.  
“N-noo l-let me go! …you f-filthy…l-let me go stop! Stop! STOP!” His weak little cries soon rose in pitch, turning into a desperate scream by the time the boy’s manhood had hardened in his touch, poking upwards despite the blond’s attempts to hide himself.  
Alphonse's screams fell on deaf ears, the man too fascinated by the boy's pale body to pay much attention to his shrieks and pleas. He was not even trying to arouse his captive--not yet, at any rate--and still his little examination was exciting him quite thoroughly. It was such a lovely sight. All of it was, really.  
He had made love to other men before, but he had not owned them, nor had any been so young and beautiful as this one. As such, he took his time looking over his purchase, examining him from tip to base and then down to his sacs, feeling their weight in his hands. And then he lifted those carefully out of the way, took a peek at the boy's entrance, shivered softly at how tight it looked. A virgin,  
not that he hadn't already guessed.  
With his investigation thus concluded, he shifted his hold back to the boy's shaft, finally beginning to rub at his skin with the intent to arouse him, although he was still gentle. The boy was already more then firm, but the harder the better.  
And yet even as he began to please his slave in earnest, his captive's screams continued. He hadn't been paying enough attention to mind before, but now he did, the shrill sound a harsh contrast to the sounds he wanted to be hearing. As such, he supposed it was time to give the boy his first lesson.  
"Be silent, Alphonse."  
The boy's shrieks continued, unwavering. And so Raphael gave him his first punishment. His gentle teasing abruptly gave way to a rough squeeze of the boy's cock, Alphonse's breath catching in his throat, choking out a moment later in a cry of pain.  
"I said be silent."  
But if anything, the boy’s cries rose with true pain, his back arching and eyes snapping open as he roughly handled him. Raphael frowned, tightening his grip even more, and somehow through the veil of pain Alphonse found enough sense to bite down on his lip, considerable muffling his cries even when he could not quiet them, the pain too much for him. Raphael decided that was an improvement, waited a few more seconds before gentling his grip on the boy’s cock, and Alphonse immediately slumped back down against the pillows, his sobs and whimpers interrupted by his ragged gasps for breath.  
His eyes were fixed on the tent’s ceiling above them, and although he kept shivering as Raphael stroked him, it was nothing like the reactions he’d been coaxing before, the pain muddling the pleasure. He jerked again once before going still, letting his eyes travel down to his captor’s face and glaring hatefully.  
“L-let me g-aah!” Another harsh squeeze, and the boy went quiet immediately this time, his lips already red from his previous bite, and then he closed his eyes shut again and turned his head to the side, burying his face on a nearby pillow and sobbing, his voice echoing around the room in a more melodious pitch, one that pleased his master far more than his ragged screams.  
But what pleased Raphael even more then the boy's gentle cries was his obedience. The child had learned his lesson so swiftly. Surely before the end of the month, he would have him fully broken, a truly perfect slave who would cater to his master's every whim without even having need of an order.  
"That's a good boy. That's a sweet little pet." He murmured, stroking the blonde's sex fondly. He then abruptly dipped downwards, laying a gentle kiss against his slave's tip, and smiling when the boy offered no more then another choked sob in answer.  
But then, suddenly, the man removed himself--releasing the boy's manhood, and then slowly standing, taking his weight off of his captive. He cast one last fond look at the blonde's shivering body before he turned, moving to a shelf nearby upon which several small vials and bottles rested, peering through them.  
"Tell me, Alphonse; do you know how two men make love?"  
He heard his slave answer the question with a frightened whimper, a wretched little sob, and he went quiet for a moment before he gathered enough courage to answer.  
“Men d-don’t make…’love’ you pagan monster” He spat hatefully at him. His slave’s return to insubordination did not please him, and a moment later he turned towards him in time to watch a show of flexibility from his slave’s lithe little body. Hm, so many good things about his new toy he had yet to see.  
As soon as he’d turned his back on him, the boy had begun wriggling and arching, no longer held back by strong arms or heavy bodies pinning him down. With some effort he had curled up, pressing his legs tightly against his chest as he passed his tied up arms beneath himself, moving them past his legs and to the front of his body, giving him far more ease of movement.  
He had only just scrambled back to his feet when Raphael had turned, their eyes fixing on each other, and he only stood frozen for one second before he bolted in the opposite direction, throwing himself down to the floor and wedging himself under the fabric of the tent. Small as he was, he soon found a spot between two of the supporting rocks that would fit him, and he wriggled through as rapidly as he could in an attempt to flee.  
The boy was swift, but Raphael was swift as well; with a snarled curse the man was after him, bounding across the room in a second, snatching at the blonde's legs. But Alphonse had been a few seconds too swift, wriggled out and through the wall just as his captor's fingers snapped at where he had been a moment prior, Raphael letting out another long string of obscenities as he ineffectually tried  
to squirm through after the boy.  
The frigid air hit the boy like a blow, Alphonse stumbling against the cold, the air escaping him in a cloud of steam. The desert that was lethally hot during the day was lethally cold at night, but he would not have the chance to find clothing or furs to keep him warm. All he could do was find a horse, run as fast and as far as he could, pray that he found safety before he froze to death--  
He had begun running, sprinting forward without any real idea of where he was going, but before he had taken more then a few paces a massive hand shot out of the darkness, catching him by the throat.  
The blonde let out a strangled scream, kicking uselessly at the air as he was held up by the neck; the giant who had captured him blinked curiously at him, raising an eyebrow.  
"Huh, from the screams I would've thought you were a girl."  
The sound of pounding feet echoed from around the corner, and both guard and slave turned to regard the approaching man, the tears starting up in the boy's eyes again as he realized it was Raphael. He did not look pleased.  
The boy was dragged back inside the tent in short order, sobbing and struggling all the way; Raphael paused only once in his marching, stopping to speak briefly to one of the nameless servants hovering around the doorway before advancing once more, returning to the bedroom which they had only just vacated.  
The warlord seated himself on the cushions, making himself comfortable before he moved to rearrange the boy slung over his shoulder. The squirming slave soon found himself draped across the other's lap, his erection tucked down between the older man's thighs, his upper body held still against the cushions by one of the man's arms.  
"I am displeased, Alphonse. You mustn't run away. For trying to do so, I shall have to punish you."  
The boy's small body stiffened, eyes dilating as he braced for pain.  
"Since this is your first offense, your punishment shall be light. But I assure you, should you try it again, you will suffer far worse."  
The sound of a harsh strike, and Alphonse's whole body jolted, the boy letting out a sharp squeak of pain as the man harshly slapped at his ass. He attempted to squirm loose, but the man's thighs were squeezed firmly around his shaft, keeping him relatively still as his captor showered down blow after blow.  
The boy cried out with each blow, his body jerking with the pain, face flushing in shame while the man kept him pinned down, punishing him as if he were some naughty child, like he’d done something wrong. Everything in this place was wrong except for him.  
Raphael felt the boy’s fingers curl into the fabric of his pants, perhaps in some failed attempt to scratch him, his cries becoming muffled as he buried his face against the pillow.  
He wanted to scream again, to tell the man to stop, that he was disgusting and sick and a monster, that he would never stop trying to get away, that HE would get away, that if he kissed him again he’d bite his tongue off and spit it at him. But all that left here were pained squeals and embarrassed sobs.  
It would do him no good to bring more pain upon himself, or to alert the man of his plans to escape.  
And his cries only grew all the more miserable when the man’s hand began lingering upon his skin after each smack, fingers caressing and curling upon his flesh before they parted to bring him pain again.  
But, thankfully, that newest part of his humiliation did not last long. The man's smacks suddenly stopped, Alphonse shivering softly and letting his eyes part a crack as his captor instead began caressing his back.  
"Ah, thank you. Please prepare it while I hold him."  
Prepare... what? The blonde's eyes opened wider, twitching to the side in terror as his breathing grew steadily more uneven. Some of the servants from before had just entered the room, were carrying something large and round between them. It was like a table, or rather just the top of a table, very large and low and flat, except for a few steel rings sunk around the edges.  
The servants carrying it set it down beside the makeshift bed, and then began to move cushions and blankets over from the bed on to the thing, covering the surface of it until only the rings were left showing. When this had been done, Raphael wordlessly handed over his captive to the waiting servants.  
The boy was surprised to find the bonds securing his wrists cut free, but this 'freedom' did not last long; despite his struggles the servants swiftly overpowered him, laying him on his back atop the strange thing, holding him still. The purpose of it soon became horribly clear, however, the boy whimpering and sobbing as his wrists and ankles were bound firmly to the steel rings surrounding him.  
When he had been thus secured, spread-eagled, the servants offered final bows to their master before retreating. Raphael hardly noticed their departure, instead strode slowly over to his captive and, raising a foot, began to rub his boot gently against the boy's swollen cock, drawing a moan from his prisoner.  
"I would have preferred to do this without binding you, but you had to go and misbehave, now didn't you?"  
He savored his slave's weak cries a moment longer before pulling away, returning his attention again to the cabinet he had been inspecting before. The boy could not run this time, and as such the man soon returned to him, sitting down between the boy's spread legs and unscrewing the top of a small vial.  
Alphonse raised his head slightly to peer down at his captor, not at all wanting to look but at the same time even more terrified of not knowing what was to come. The man was dipping his fingers inside the container, and when he drew them out, they were glistening and moist. Raphael shifted then, moved as if to grab the boy's shaft once more, but instead--  
Alphonse arched as sharply as his bindings would allow, a most startled cry of horror escaping him as the man's fingers began teasing at his skin.  
Raphael traced slow circles over the boy’s entrance with his fingers, thoroughly rubbing the lotion over it before he slowly began pressing a single finger in. The boy sobbed disconsolately meanwhile, struggling uselessly against his bounds yet again, demanding through broken sobs that he let him go, that he stopped.  
But Raphael cared nothing about the boy’s demands, his patience growing thing, every movement and sound the boy made only teasing his need all the more. And yet as he slowly pushed his finger inside, he realized he still had a long way to go before he could satisfy himself. The boy’s warm body tightened sharply around that single finger, making him move slowly least he hurt him, even with the oils he’d used to cover his skin.  
He patiently pushed in, then out, then in again, kneading the soft flesh and making the boy twist this way and that, his words interrupted by a sharp gasp, followed by a shaky moan, and then another, the blond finding it hard to speak at all. And how his words had changed. Raphael hadn’t really been paying attention to them, but he suddenly noticed the blond wasn’t demanding any longer, instead begged him to stop, pleaded. How cute.  
He felt sick, his body overtaken by sharp shudders, strange tingles traveling rapidly down his spine to pool wherever the man touched him. He had closed his eyes shut by then, refused to open them ever again. Not that having them open would do him any good, his tears muddling his vision.  
The man’s fingers felt warm against him, but something cool and hard kept rubbing against him as he entered him again and again, and with a twist of his stomach, the blond realized he hadn’t even bothered to take his rings off before violating him. Raphael removed his fingers, grinning as the boy slumped back down against the table, but he did not let him rest long, simply poured more of the lotion onto his fingers before he was prodding and pushing in again.  
The boy was not speaking anymore, not demanding or begging even, all he had left were sobs and moans and gasps as he worked up a rhythm, and when he decided the boy’s body had somehow relaxed, he carefully pushed a second finger in.  
The mingled cry of pleasure and anguish that escaped the boy as his pale body arched prettily against the pillows coaxed a needy little grunt from his own lips, and he had to tell himself that he couldn’t claim the boy just yet, not when he could barely cram two fingers in, not unless he wanted the whole thing to be far more painful than it had to be.  
Ah, gods, it made him hungry. He bit softly at his lip as he continued to work at the boy, patient despite his need, every movement careful and controlled despite how his slave's cries teased and called to him. He had known it would take a while to prepare his young captive to fit him, and for that reason, he had originally intended to take things far more slowly. Work at the boy's body for a day  
or perhaps even a few days before he claimed him. But he had underestimated the strength of the siren-song his captive could sing.  
Every soft whimper from the boy's lips on the way home, every shy motion of his body as he tried to curl farther beneath the warm furs, every jostly of his skin against his swollen groin... it had been too much, too tempting. He had resolved that the boy would be his that night. But damn, it was still too slow.  
The blonde's small body was still adjusting to the addition of a second finger, and knowing he would be working for a while, Raphael resolved to think of something else in order to help keep him patient. Of course, it was hard to think of something else, anything else, when he had a naked little flesh-god lying bound before him. When the boy had been screaming earlier, he had become quite worried,  
thinking that perhaps the whole night would be so unpleasant, his vision of the perfect slave drowned beneath obnoxious and incessant screeching. He had very much expected him to scream again when he had first pushed into him. But no, he had remained obediently quiet, only begging and sobbing rather then shouting.  
Such delightful sounds! And the way his flesh quivered at his touch. And the sight of his manhood poking up firm and full before him, assuring him that his work was not in vain! In fact...  
He bit back a groan of pleasure as a closer look revealed the boy was leaking, small beads of white trickling down his shaft. Likely the first such drops he had ever produced. Raphael wondered if his touches would be enough to drive him fully over the edge, or if he would not release until he was taken. On another side of his thoughts, he realized with amusement that his own sex was dripping, too.  
He began to inch a third finger inward, but paused when the anguish in the boy's cries overwhelmed the pleasure, pulling away the probing digit and continuing to work with two. He let out a slow sigh; it was going to be a long night.  
As such, he worked with what he had, pushing with those two fingers deeper into the boy, massaging him more thoroughly, pushing in until he could do so no longer. Once in, he did not pull them out, instead began tracing circles inside the boy, his thumb reaching out and kneading the soft sacs above, his eyes fixed on the small drops of white that dribbled slowly down his shaft.  
After another moment he pulled out, again adding more lotion, pushing back in one, then two, and more slowly the third one. This time there wasn’t so much resistance, the boy kicking uselessly at one of his bonds. By now, his moans had turned into a continuous melody that echoed around the room, small body tensing.  
Raphael licked his lips hungrily. Such a wonderful slave, the boy had not moved a single thing to pleasure him, and yet he’d had him hard for hours, a small damp patch appearing on his pants.  
Eventually he’d grown too impatient to simply watch, and a moment later he leaned forward, carefully lapping at the falling drops of seed, the taste decidedly the sweetest he’d ever had, and a moment later he let his lips wrap around the tip of the boy’s shaft, began gently sucking at it. He’d barely started when the boy’s voice rose in pitch and then cut off entirely, changing into a groan, more of the sweet substance filling his mouth, and he was more than happy to lap and swallow it all.  
When it was all done, he paused the movement of his fingers, but left them inside, savoring the remaining spams of the boy’s body around them as he gave the boy’s cock one last cleansing lap before he pulled back to admire his work.  
With one last shudder, one last wretched croak, the boy slumped tiredly against the table, his face flushed and cheeks liberally streaked with tears, eyes staring dazedly up at the ceiling. He didn’t speak, didn’t accuse him of being a monster or demand that he let go or even beg him, instead remained very much quiet, except for the ragged breaths that made his thin chest rise and fall, perhaps thinking it was done, waiting for the man to pull away and let him be.  
And, with every fiber of his body, the man felt that it /he/ was ready, too. Barring giving it a few days--which was no longer a choice--there was nothing he could do to prepare the boy further. It was time.  
Dazed as he was, the boy did not notice when the man withdrew from him and began to undress. The exhaustion of his first release kept him staring blurry-eyed and docile at the ceiling, not hearing the soft sound of clothing being discarded, or noticing as the man drew closer. He did notice, however, when he felt another dose of the wet material being rubbed in and around his entrance, looked down  
with a weak little cry, a silent plea that he call it done, not do it again--  
What he saw startled and confused him. The man was...? Why... why would...  
As his master stretched lazily out atop him, he felt something hot and hard touching him. It was like the fingers, but it was far thicker, and--and--  
Raphael wrapped his arms around the boy, nuzzled fondly at his chest and gave a careful little lap to one of the peaks there as he began to ease himself in. He would have to be far more gentle then he liked, but at this point in the night, even the most careful of rounds was going to feel like absolute heaven.  
The boy instinctively tensed in apprehension, trying to sink back into the table and away from him, but there was nowhere for him to run, nowhere for him to hide.  
“P-please don’t, please, please n-no”  
He sounded so tired as he spoke, truly begging with his whole being for mercy, for rest from that torture, but all he had was a short pause as Raphael reached forward and stroked his hair, laid a gentle kiss against his neck.  
“Hush now, it’ll be alright, I’ll be so gentle with you, I promise…” And with that he was kissing him again and again, suckling softly at his collarbone as he slowly pushed his way in, the boy’s virgin body resisting him even after all the preparations he’d done.  
Alphonse threw his head back, craning his neck away as best as he could, staring at the wall behind them rather than at the scene atop him, his fingers curling, nails digging into the wooden table beneath him, his whole body tensing against the frame that held him still as the pleasure began mixing with pain, his cries slowly rising yet again.  
Raphael was very careful, conscious of the boy’s suffering despite the pleasure that his entrance brought him, the same tightness that made the boy cry out in pain coaxing grunts of delight from him. He rocked his hips forward very slowly, pushing more and more of himself into the arching boy below him, until he had somehow fitted himself entirely inside him, and then he waited, cooing more reassuring words and bathing his body with gentle kisses as his hands ran reassuring down his back and sides.  
Alphonse was not reassured on the least, but still he did not cry out for him to stop anymore, had already given away any hope on that, instead abandoned himself to his broken sobs as the man gently rocked his hips against his, his warm body nestling down atop him, covering his skin with him, so that no part of him was left exempt of the torture.  
And Raphael found himself pleased--insanely pleased--for more than one reason. First there was the pleasure; it felt just as he had dreamed it would, during all those long hours of waiting since he'd first seen the boy, the blonde's body tightening around him inch by inch and the soft skin warm against his own. And then he was pleased with his slave's responses; his weeping was that of distress  
rather then true agony, his body shuddering appropriately, signs that his work preparing the boy had paid off.  
Still he took his time, fully aware that tolerance of his intrusion was not the same as acceptance. He made his motions slow, giving the boy's body time to grow used to him before he moved again, rocking himself gently in and out, in and out. He could feel the boy's manhood pressing stiff against his belly, and he enjoyed the blush that had crept acrosshis pale cheeks.  
And this paradise was only the beginning! He could only imagine how it would be once the boy had been trained to please him, came bounding over to greet him when he arrived home, whimpering and pleading to be caressed and fondled! Eight thousand had been a dishonor to his worth. If he had known just how sweet the taste would be, he'd have paid the little bastards even more for him.  
Alphonse let out a soft moan and his shaft left a long smear of white down his master's belly. Raphael's attention focused again at this; ah, yes, the future would be sweet, but for now, he should be focusing on the equally delectable present.  
He settled his weight more fully, albeit still carefully, atop his tiny captive, continuing to arch in and out of the boy even as he took his face carefully in his hands, began gently kissing at his slave's face and cheeks and throat. He did not immediately move to kiss his lips, however, for he knew that his pet still might be apt to bite.  
But as he felt the great heat surging up his manhood--as he felt the increased amount of fluid oozing out against his stomach--he knew that the moment was ripe, the boy too dazed to resist him. As the blonde trembled with the beginning of a second climax, his master moved as well. Lips settled gently over the boy's, tasting, and he pressed in deep as he released, fully and utterly claiming his  
slave as his own  
But the boy wasn’t as dazed as he thought, and a brief moment later he turned his face away as he had before, breaking the kiss rather than biting, thankfully. With that his release was finished, as well as the boy’s both of them panting harshly, Alphonse looking everywhere but at him.  
He frowned, but chose not to punish him this time, instead raised a hand to softly stroke the blond’s hair, nuzzled gently at his ear and kissed him.  
“Hush there Alphonse, you did a wonderful job and your body has rewarded you for it, the pleasure will only grow the more I lay claim to you” He murmured. That did everything but comfort the boy.  
The boy’s face twisted in horror, fat tears sliding down his cheeks in rapid succession as he took a faltering gasp, his whole body shuddering violently as he screamed in pain, horror, disgust, anger; screamed once for all the times he’d hadn’t screamed before.  
Raphael didn’t approve, moved slightly back away from the sound in distaste, frowning down at him. The kiss he could let slip, but he had already ordered him to be silent, and this was the third time he’d disobeyed him in a single night. The boy’s voice rose in pitch as Raphael abruptly shoved himself into him with more force than he’d preciously used, making the boy shudder in pain.  
“I said be silent”  
The scream wavered, and then was muffled as the boy bit harshly down on his lip, the sound continuing to flow from him for a few moments longer before he finally receded back to broken sobs, his lip bleeding slightly where he’d bitten down.  
Alphonse closed his eyes shut as he’d done when it all began, blocking all sights. The man’s face still tormented him in his mind, as well as a million greedy eyes staring at him up in the slaver’s stand, and now he understood why they had all been staring like that, even the first woman.  
“Surely it's worth a bit more gold to see him and your other pretty blonde nestled up together” the slaver’s voice sang inside his head. He’d been doomed the moment they caught him.  
Those nightmares had been the same ones to force his eyes open, his naked craned back to fix on the wall behind him as he was pushed back and forth, the boy focusing on it and nothing more during the torture, trying to slip away. And yet he wasn’t allowed even that refuge. The man had sought him out, taken his face in his filthy hands and pulled him closer, laying searing kisses over his skin, scorching his lewd face into the boy’s mind with every stroke. Alphonse had closed his eyes again.  
That single rough movement it had taken Raphael to punish the boy had brought him such wonderful pleasure, and just as the boy’s cries had trampled over his resolution to wait for a day or two, the boy’s tight body wrapped snug around him broke his resolution to let him rest. It was a viciously addictive circle, really. The more of his seed filled his slave, the deeper and faster he could go, the more pleasure he felt, and the more he wanted to fill the boy with his cum over and over again. He would have to be very careful, or he might end up riding the poor thing to exhaustion all night long.  
He leaned forward, lapped the blood clean from the boy’s lips, gently suckling at it before he shifted, adding more of his weight atop the boy, positioning himself and wrapping his arms more securely around him for leverage.  
“I’m sorry Alphonse…but you brought this upon yourself”  
And then the torture began all over again, the man pushing himself in and out of him once more, his movements slightly faster and deeper than they had been before. Raphael buried his face against the blond’s soft hair, breathing in his sweet scent as he let out his own grunts of pleasure, briefly intermingled by soft reassuring strokes to the boy’s sides, quiet little murmurs telling him he was a good boy.  
It took him less than before to reach his own peak, the boy beneath him releasing once again halfway through it. The boy beneath him lay perfectly still but for a few soft trembles, his harsh sobs turned to piteous whimpers, all the fight drained out of him.  
Raphael licked his lips and turned glazed and greedy eyes down towards his captive. Ah, that had been better then the first round--far better. But the next one would be better still, of that he was sure. He'd finally be able to get a true tempo going, make those little hips rock swiftly against his own, put his full strength into--  
He blinked as the boy shivered beneath and around him, stared down at him a minute longer before he shook his head, regaining himself. No... no, this would have to be enough. The boy's slim body had taken him so well, so much better then expected, but he would not push his luck. The last thing he wanted to do was break his toy the very day after he'd bought it.  
He relaxed against his slave, but did not withdraw, enjoying the feel of the boy's warmth and his heart hammering against his chest. It would still be a while before he could love his captive with full passion. It would likely take him a few weeks to get him so ready, and until then, it would be all gentleness and training. Tomorrow he would work him with his fingers again, perhaps even with the  
beads if he seemed to have the strength for it, or if he were naughty.  
He finally removed himself from his exhausted captive, although he did not go far, instead began moving to lick the boy clean, lapping away the release that had puddled on his belly and groin. His slave whimpered softly at the sensation, but Raphael did not tease him behind that, instead began to carefully work free the boy's bindings.  
"You have learned a few lessons today, and tomorrow you shall learn a few more, but for now you shall sleep. Pleasure can be tiring, can't it, pet?"  
He ran a hand fondly down the boy's face and chest before finally releasing one of his wrists, moving to work free the other.  
The boy began to stir at that, and once the man had released his other wrist, he began to let out a few weak sobs, struggling to turn on to his belly, trying to crawl--a futile attempt with his ankles still bound. Raphael found it more amusing then offensive, patted his slave's hair lightly before he released his ankles. Even when fully freed the boy managed to go nowhere fast, and soon his captor  
had scooped him up, carried him forward and placed him gently down in the golden cage the boy had observed earlier.  
The boy tried to hide the moment he'd been released, curling up and wriggling as much of himself beneath the cushions as he could, sobbing weakly. Raphael did not stop him, but instead drew up several blankets, covering the boy carefully. Alphonse immediately withdrew his head beneath the furs, 'hiding,' to which his captor offered up a small smile before stepping back.  
He returned a moment later, tugged the boy's blankets down despite the blonde's attempts to remain beneath them. The warlord did not fully reveal him, however, only exposed the boy's head and shoulders before he slid an arm around his back, holding him up as he pressed a pitcher of water to the boy's lips.  
"Drink, and then you may sleep."  
But the boy did not meekly sip the water offered to him, instead pressed his lips tightly together, shifted his head away, just as he had done with all of his kisses. Raphael frowned, held him closer, and moved the pitcher once again against his lips, more forcefully this time.  
“Drink, Alphonse”  
And then the boy moved, harshly slamming the pitcher away, kicking and struggling while he screamed. The boy’s sudden outburst took him by surprise; the warlord thinking his captive had already been broken into submission, his strength exhausted.  
Alphonse did not miss the chance to slip away from hi, and as the water soaked the cushions and blankets in his cage, he hastily crawled away from the man and deeper within, tugging the furs along with him and curling up at the back, once again shielding all his body from view with exception of his face and his hands, which clutched desperately at the golden bars, as if they could keep him from being hauled away, as if somehow inside he was safer.  
“D-don’t touch me! Y-you’ve took me from my h-home! You covered me i-in your f-filth! Y-you s-soiled me! Y-you are a-all your greedy b-beasts…a-all you care a-about are your o-own needs…a-and I have no n-need of you…i-if you are done, then let me be!” He spat, hatefully, angrily, even as his heart hammered painfully past against his chest, his tears flowing yet again.  
Talk like that and perhaps I WON'T be done. That was his first thought, the man decidedly angered, eyes narrowing. But then he gritted his teeth, passed a hand over his face, reminding himself to be patient. He couldn't whip the boy for not matching his dreams, not when it was only to be expected. He had still done very well, despite it all, and so for the night his training was over, no matter  
what a fuss he might make at the tail end of it.  
Still, he knew that the boy was being ungrateful. He had recognized many of those who had been bidding on him, and of all of them, he was the kindest. He could match faces to what state the boy would be in at present, if the others had bought him. If the rugged-faced man with the red skin had taken him, he would be lying bleeding and broken now, thighs smeared with red as he screamed. If it had  
been the woman with the sour lips, either his ankles or legs would be broken, rendering him truly, helplessly hers forever. And if the sick-minded blonde had gotten his filthy hands on him, he'd be chained down in the middle of some black ritual at present, twisted runes carved into his skin as a whole choir of monsters chanted over him.  
But he was the one who had got him, and he had been so gentle, and given him a warm, soft bed in which to sleep, and offered him water.  
He debated telling the boy all this, but supposed in his current state, it would mean nothing. As such, he resolved to simply do what had to be done and then leave him to sleep.  
Alphonse let out a piercing scream as the man grabbed at him, thrashing in his hold despite the man's murmured reassurances that he wasn't going to hurt him; a few more attempts to give the boy what little water remained in the jug, and when those failed, Raphael settled for something rougher but more effective, clamping a hand over the boy's nose as he poured a trickle of water down his throat.  
The blonde let out a strangled gurgle but finally swallowed, taking the water down simply so he could breathe, gasping for air. The man ran a last gentle hand through his hair before finally releasing him, letting the boy go back to cowering against the bars of his cage as he exited, closing and locking the door behind him. With that thus finished, he set about cleaning himself, wiping away the  
white the boy had smeared against his belly before finally yawning, extinguishing the room's sole lantern and leaving the room in darkness.  
"Sleep well, Alphonse."  
And to his surprise, the boy answered him.  
“If the gods are g-good I’ll never wake up e-either…” The words made Raphael frown, and for a moment he had doubts about leaving the boy completely unrestrained without anyone to keep an eye on him, free to do something stupid.  
But no, it was a foolish notion, the boy was trapped inside the cage with nothing but wet cushions and blankets to keep him company, the bars too close together for even him to slip through. He was not going anywhere.  
Having reassured himself, the lord slipped onto his own bed, his eyes searching in the darkness for the boy’s small silhouette, and seeing nothing but dark shapes, the boy’s frame indiscernible from the many pillows and cushions littering the cage. Eventually he sighed and closed his eyes in defeat, opting for finding the boy in his own memories. The soft pale flesh, the rosy peaks on his chest, his sweet scent and taste…ah yes, he would certainly sleep well.  
He had sweet dreams that night, of heavenly pleasures and a loving, obedient slave, and when morning came he was reluctant to wake. The only thing that finally roused him were the thoughts of how he could now make his dreams come true.  
He stretched and yawned, opened his eyes and sat up, immediately turning towards the cage by his side as he ran a hand through his hair.  
It seemed the boy’s gods were everything but good.  
He still lay curled on the same spot he had left him, wrapped all up in furs, only his face showing, and by the dark rings around his eyes, he would have been surprised if the boy had had any sleep at all.  
He shivered and twitched; soft sobs breaking from him every once in a while, too quiet to bother his sleep. He looked dazedly downwards at the pillows strewn at his feet, but as soon as he heard the sound of rustling fabric he turned sharply towards Raphael, hands rising to clutch at the bars while he kept a weary eye on him.  
Hmm... that was not what he had been hoping to see. If the boy had gotten no rest, then he was going to have to be even gentler with him that day then he had already intended. Perhaps the beads would have to be left out of the equation.  
He debated simply leaving the boy where he was, hoping he would eventually give in to exhaustion, but if the lovemaking of last night had not been enough to make the frightened thing do so, then there was no point in it. He would simply have to go through his day and let the boy rest when he showed signs of being ready to rest, rather then leaving him trapped in the cage for more useless hours.  
He drew near the golden thing, peering in at his captive, who immediately shrunk back in fear. After a few more moments of staring he moved to dress, and once that was done he departed the room, leaving Alphonse to stare nervously after him.  
When he returned several minutes later, he was holding a neatly folded silk something in his one hand, and a bowl of delicious-looking fruits in the other. He settled himself down before the cage, selecting a fruit for himself and biting into it with obvious relish before selecting another, extending his arm into the cage and offering it to the boy.  
"Come and eat, Alphonse, and then you may get dressed."  
And the boy’s answer to that was simply to glare at him, keeping himself plastered and clutching at the far side of the cage, ‘protected’ by the golden bars that Raphael himself had put between them.  
That did not please his master on the least, and soon he was frowning in disapproval, a expression he had always shown before punishing the boy for his disobediences. But when he would have moved to punish him, the boy stirred. He uncertainly let go of the bars, keeping the dark furs he’d been given tightly clutched to himself as he slowly, hesitantly crawled towards him. A pleased smile grew on Raphael’s lips at that, and he murmured soft words of praise at the blond for his obedient actions.  
Raphael watched expectantly as the boy looked down at the fruit, his smile widening when the boy’s stomach rumbled loud and clear, the boy shuddering. A moment later the fruit sailed past his head, fell to the carpet with a soft thud and rolled harmlessly away, although Raphael had the sinking suspicion that it had been meant to hit him on the head.  
Alphonse had hastily retreated to the other side of the cage, once again clutching at the bars and hissing.  
“I told you I don’t need anything from you, leave me alone!”  
"...Then you will go for our walk both naked and hungry. So be it."  
Raphael supposed that was enough of a punishment for the moment. He would have preferred it if the boy had eaten, but he would be alright; he was a thin little thing, but not to the point of being malnourished. A day or two without food wouldn't cause him any harm behind a pain in his belly, and if he was still rejecting meals after that, he would resort to force-feeding. Such a stubborn little  
thing, but... rather amusing for it.  
He moved away from the boy again, turning to another line of shelves in the back of the room as Alphonse huddled down against the far bars. He returned a second later without the silken thing, but carrying something else in its place. He opened the cage door and slipped inside, and a moment later he was locked with the blonde in mock 'combat,' the small boy struggling fitfully and shrieking as the  
older man pulled something tight around his throat. But then it was done, a golden collar closed tight around his neck, a long and sturdy rope knotted around the end of it.  
He was half-dragged and half-stumbled out through the door of his cage, Raphael pulling away the furs the boy was clutching too, leaving him fully bare once again before he began yanking him forward. Alphonse resisted to the best of his ability, but his strength was nothing compared to the warlord's, the man pulling him along like a wheeled toy.  
Out through the elaborate front room, and then out into the blinding sun, the harsh heat in sharp contrast to the freezing cold of the night. Alphonse winced at the light, eyes instinctively squinting, and then he was being carried along again, his owner moving through the rows of tents with set purpose.  
The canvas tents went on and on; some were only slightly smaller then Raphael's, while others were exceedingly simple, more akin to the sort of tent Alphonse was familiar with. And, moving along around and inside and between those tents, were people.  
Many of them were men, roughly-shaped and powerfully built, but there were women and even children as well, although they were scarcer. Many eyes looked up to regard the pair, many heads bowing in respect to their lord, and many cast glances at the young naked boy dragged along behind him. Some glances were longer then others. He felt the burning red creep up into his cheeks, ashamed.  
Not a single glance carried any pity.  
"My army consists of over three thousand men, and some of them have families, as you can see," Raphael said, softly.  
"Every one of them, man, woman, and child, is loyal to me and only me. Whatever dreams you have of escaping, surrender them now."  
The truth of the man's words was painful. Raphael's tent was located in the very center of this sprawling mass; the chances of him being able to slip away from there undetected, when every house contained spies and when guards ringed the walls, were...  
"I founded this militia over a dozen years past, and it is now the strongest this world has ever seen. We collect tribute from the villages throughout the region, and provide protection to the kingdom of Amakiz in return for food and supplies. We used to travel more frequently, but then we found... this."  
Alphonse felt himself jerked forward, and found himself blinking forward at... a lake. The water stretched on and on before him, the shore only just visible in the distance. For the first time, the boy realized that he was walking on cool stone instead of sand.  
"I suppose you've seen a lot of water, in your green lands, but here it's more precious then gold."  
The answer to his words came in the form of a harsh yank of the rope. His hands held it tight, and both boy and rope went nowhere. He turned around, saw the blond clutching at the collar, trying ineffectually to pry it loose, glaring at the floor as he shifted from one foot to the other, the stone beneath him hot enough that it burned at his feet, constantly warmed by the dessert’s sun.  
“I don’t care” Alphonse spat, rising his eyes to glare hatefully at his captor.  
“I’m not a slave, eight thousand golden coins can’t change that, and no matter what you do, no matter what horrors you force on me, I will never be yours” The boy’s eyes were full of tears, but his voice never wavered, and he glared at Raphael for a long moment before he looked away and pst him, at the gleaming surface of the lake before them, uselessly tugging at his collar once again.  
“Running isn’t the only way out…”  
It was a bad choice of words. Raphael's eyes narrowed, but Alphonse was too busy staring at the ground to notice.  
He did notice, however, when the man promptly struck him across the face, the blow vicious and powerful. Alphonse let out a startled cry of pain, would have fallen to the ground if not for the man's jerking harshly on the rope, keeping him upright. A moment later the warlord drew close, one hand curling around the boy's collar as the other seized his wrists.  
"Your words will earn you nothing but a more permanent cage."  
The boy's answer was a frenzied attempt to kick, but his captor easily countered the blow with his own leg, turned his slave around at the same time that he drew him closer, let out a slow hiss.  
"But perhaps the heat is getting to your head? Would you prefer I give you a tour of my home instead? A more... intimate... tour?"  
Alphonse's spine prickled as he felt the man's knee teasing up between his legs.  
"Oooh, is that an invitation?"  
Quite suddenly Raphael was the one who had stiffened; Alphonse took a few harsh breaths before twisting his head, seeing who had spoken. A man with dark hair and tanned skin was standing between them and the lake, grinning, hands buried in his pockets.  
"What in the hells are YOU doing here?" Raphael spat, turning--but not taking the boy with him, releasing his captive and moving to place himself between the newcomer and the slave. The man shrugged.  
"Having a bit of trouble finding work, is all."  
"By which you mean you touched another noble you shouldn't have."  
"Hey, now, no need to be so hostile. But c'mon, let me see~"  
The man darted abruptly forward, spinning around in front of Raphael and getting a nice look at the naked boy behind him.  
"What a pretty little thing! Have you fucked him yet? Can I touch him?"  
At close range, it was obvious that the man was very large, nearly half a foot taller then the warlord; he offered up another nasty grin and reached out towards the boy. Alphonse let out a hateful hiss, arm pulling back to strike at the intruder--but then there was a flash of steel, a sad grunt, and a moment later Raphael was once more between his captive and the stranger, a knife pressed to the  
giant's throat.  
"One wrong move, Lucian, and I WILL kill you."  
The man--Lucian--did not look frightened or even particularly nervous. If anything he grinned wider, inching closer, leaning in even as Raphael growled and leaned back, knife still pressed against the man's skin.  
"No need for such violence. We're friends, aren't we, Raph?"  
The two were a mere inch from each other, the dark-haired one still grinning like an idiot, Raphael glaring. But then Lucian abruptly dropped to one knee, crossing an arm politely across his chest.  
"I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you. I only came to ask for work... my lord."  
Still that knowing grin. Raphael's eyes narrowed further--and then his blade twisted through the air, lashing out--  
\--And back into the sheath at his side. He promptly turned, dragging Alphonse along with him as he stormed away.  
"Find your own damn work, Lucian."  
Alphonse didn't fail to notice that his captor was breathing much harder then he had been before the strange encounter. Raphael seemed to notice him staring, locked eyes with the boy's and growled.  
"I will have guards stationed around the lake. You won't so much as be able to go there to piss without being noticed."  
Alphonse only glared back, raising a hand to cup the reddened cheek the man had hit, but did not speak. He could have suggested he might want to teach them how to swim as well, but if the man actually followed his teasing remark it would do him no good.  
He’d shifted his gaze to look downwards, wanting to avoid both Raphael’s smoldering gaze and the leering stares of his many followers, but his gaze paused mid way, eyes widening.  
A moment later The rope had gone taut in the warlord’s hand, the thing almost slipping from his hand as the blonde threw himself back and away from him, digging his heels on the sand and putting his all on trying to sleep free, drawing a sharp gasp before he began screaming.  
Raphael growled menacingly, eyes shifting from the struggling boy to the standing figure of the taller man far behind him. He thought he could see him smirking. Raphael bristled, and a moment later he began striding faster, yanking at the rope and causing the boy to stumble forward, his cries wavering before he rose again. Another yank and he would stumble again, putting him ever closer to the tent.  
Then the rope went taut again, and even his harsh yanking would barely drag the boy forward. When Raphael whipped around again he found the blond sunk down against the floor, using all of his weight against the rope while the collar tightened painfully against his throat. His creams had ceased, replaced by pitiful attempts to draw breath and choked gurgling sounds. But although his resistance seemed to be costing him his life, the boy did not look willing to stand up and stumble after his master any time soon, the forgotten promise of a more intimate tour ringing clearly now in his mind.  
"So that means I'll see you later tonight, right?” The taller man’s voice rang in the distance, although Lucian had fallen into step behind them.  
The sound of Raphael's teeth gritting was audible; he whipped abruptly around, but rather then stalking towards the teasing man he set about prying the prone boy off of the ground, lifting his struggling form and tossing him over his shoulder. Alphonse's screams rose higher and higher, the young thing writhing and kicking and scratching, Raphael letting out a long hiss.

A moment later the blonde had been flattened against the ground, the warlord pushing down on him, moving swiftly. In a matter of moments Alphonse found himself bound with the rope that had previously been his leash, arms and legs tied behind his back hog-style, the boy alternating screams and sobs as he was picked up again.  
Raphael ran a hand over his brow. He was getting a headache, and that meant the boy was getting the beads.  
Back through the camp, back into the man's tent--but not back into his bedroom. The blonde's momentary relief at this realization did not last long, however, as soon Raphael had carried him into another room, one in which a massive stone basin was sunk into the floor, filled nearly to the brim with water.  
Panic set in--thoughts of the man holding him under the water, perhaps doing lewd things to him while he did so--Alphonse's struggles redoubling, the boy's screams shrill and piercing.  
He found himself not dumped into the pool, however, but rather settled down on the soft cottons lining the floor, Raphael dropping into a crouch beside him, covering the boy's mouth and holding him still.  
"Shhh, shhh..."  
Even with the man's weight putting an effective end to his struggles, the boy continued screaming, his cries coming out muffled and broken by his captor's hand. But Raphael remained patiently still, finding his temper much improved now that the other man was gone, continuing his soft hushes towards the boy and holding him still as he waited for his slave to similarly calm.  
And, in time, the boy did calm down, shrill shrieks finally receding into whimpers, struggles finally stopping as he realized that the bulge he had seen in the man's pants was no longer present. Raphael didn't realize this was the reason for his quieting, however, merely stroked his hair and continued to murmur reassurances at him for another moment before he pulled away.  
"Lay still."  
With that single warning the man began to undo his bindings, releasing the boy's collar and working the leash free of his wrists and ankles.  
And the boy did stay still, although he remained alert, dilated eyes fixed on Raphael all the while. When the man was done, he abruptly moved--Alphonse letting out a terrified squeak--but he didn't move to draw him close, instead promptly pushed him over into the water.  
It was pleasantly cool after the burning sun, the blonde coming up with a splutter, turning nervous eyes back towards Raphael--to see the man undressing, apparently intending to join him.  
And at that the boy hastily turned away, going for the other side of the basin so he could scramble out and make another attempt to flee from the underside of the tent. Raphael cursed softly, and this time he was swifter than the boy. He grabbed him by his golden collar, yanked him harshly backwards, so that he fell with a splash back into the basin.  
When the boy rose out of the water gasping for breath once again, Raphael was already naked.  
“S-stay away from me!” He screamed, again going for the edge opposite to the man. His words were ignored, and his attempts to flee interrupted once again. Raphael caught him easily before he could go anywhere, yanking him by his arm and holding him close.  
Despite his struggled, Raphael easily managed to restrain the smaller boy, sitting comfortably on the basin and wrapping his arms around the blond. Alphonse’s arms were trapped between their chests, the man’s hold on him too firm for him to slip away, but he at least held himself up on his knees, keeping their lower bodies as far away as possible. At least until he felt one of the warlord’s hand slowly wandering down his back, the things he’d done to him the previous night going back to him.  
With an unhappy whimper he sat down, bringing his rear under the water with a soft splash, but more importantly, found himself forced to sit on Raphael’s lap, his legs straddling his waist.  
A sob broke from him, and then another, and soon enough he was crying again, tucking his face down and hiding against the man’s lithe chest. The gesture made Raphael happy, having his slave willingly come into contact with him, but the boy found no comfort on it, had only moved to hide his misery from his torturer.  
But the warlord knew none of this, let out a gentle sigh and finally allowed himself to relax, sinking slightly lower in the water and taking the boy with him. He traced a hand affectionately up and down the boy's spine, although he did not follow it fully, his strokes coming to a stop and beginning to glide back up whenever he felt his slave's shudders grow stronger. After... that... it was nice  
to simply be able to rest with a small, warm body nestled against his own. That serenity would be broken if he attempted to train the boy today, and as such, he decided that unless his captive truly roused his temper, he would be left alone for the day, particularly if he could coax him to eat and sleep.  
He stretched out his free hand, picked up a small bell set nearby and rang it. A moment later a servant appeared, bowing respectfully, Raphael not even bothering to glance at her as he gave his orders.  
"Bring fruit and water, be swift."  
Alphonse shivered a little at that--not at anything that had been said, but how he imagined he must look, pressed so close to the other man, and all apparently by his own will. He looked like... like a...  
He bit his lip, mind trying to remember the word--it was not one he heard often, in his land--but eventually he gave up, simply closed his eyes and shuddered again.  
"I was going to ask if that man had frightened you, but given your inclination towards screaming at random moments, I'm no longer certain if that's the case."  
The man's voice, musing from above his ear. And then quite suddenly Alphonse found a hand on his shoulder and another on his chin, tilting his head back, forcing him to meet his captor's eyes.  
"Now listen, Alphonse; if you promise to be good, and you eat and drink when the servant returns, and sleep after, then I swear I will not touch you again today, so long as you don't try to run off. Do you understand?"  
The boy found no reassurance in his proposition, continued shuddering in his hold, tears still slipping down his cheeks even as he calmed his voice enough to speak.  
“O-obedience…you think you can buy me l-like you did w-with those men before?”  
But then he went quiet, another sharper shudder wrecking his body, and he pulled his chin free from the man’s grip, looked away and closed his eyes shut.  
“N-no…n-not buy….not e-even that, t-them you gave gold, what are you e-even giving me?” With that he turned back towards Raphael, some determination crawling back into his eyes, even as he kept shuddering in fear.  
“B-be obedient, eat your food and d-drink your water, close your eyes and when you open them, the nightmare will begin a-all again, a-and again, a- again, and a-again…a-and all you ever did accomplish was make the m-monster smile as he played you” His fist balled up against Raphael’s chest, and he pushed himself as far away as he could from him, not having nearly enough strength to truly pry himself away.  
“I-I don’t need your food o-or your water, or your twisted sense of pity, and I-I will never be your slave, not even if it…k-kills me”  
The gentleness on the man's face slid back into neutrality. He regarded the boy with sharp green eyes, thinking, debating, and then quite suddenly he moved to grip both of Alphonse's arms, holding them still against his sides as he drew his captive closer.  
"Understand this, Alphonse, if nothing else. You will never escape me. Not by running. Not by death. However, you have a choice. You can accept your new life here, and have all the luxuries and pleasantries you desire, and see all the wide world, and answer to no one but me. You can live a life sweeter then any you have known before. Or..."  
The sound of soft footfalls, the servant returning, carrying a tray upon which rested several fruits and two glasses. She set this down beside the basin before respectfully retreating, and Raphael carefully picked up an apple, rolling it in his fingers.  
"...You can choose to suffer. You can spend the rest of your life chained to a wall, fed and watered by force, never seeing anything but the interior of a cage and feeling pain where there might have been such pleasure. Your choice, Alphonse."  
The fruit nudged gently against the boy's lips.  
The boy sobbed again, twisted his head away, rejecting the food as he’d rejected his kisses. Raphael narrowed his eyes at that.  
“Very well then—“ But then the man stared in surprise as the boy reached out, trembling fingers wrapping around the apple. He let him take it from his grip, the boy not immediately pulling it back to his lips, instead looking at it with a troubled expression on his face.  
“You…y-you promise you won’t touch me?”  
“…I promise I won’t, Alphonse…not today” The boy jerked and whimpered at his last words, eyes fixed on the apple in his hands all the while.  
“I-I don’t believe you…” Raphael hesitated briefly, then ran his hands down the boy’s sides before he released him, letting him free to stay or go as he pleased. Alphonse hesitated for a moment, began moving slowly away, then finally scrambled away.  
“Stay inside” The boy let out a piteous moan at that, but obeyed, resting against the opposite side of the basin, all curled up on the corner so he could remain as far away from the man as possible. He still wouldn’t look at Raphael.  
His eyes were focused on the red fruit in his hands, whimpered softly, then turned slightly away from the warlord, remaining on his side. He wanted to hide himself, but at the same time, he did not trust the monster with his back.  
The boy took the fruit to his mouth, gingerly taking a small bite, as if he’d been forced to gnaw on something disgusting. Then the taste spread.  
He finished the thing in seconds, eating it to the core, and barely restraining himself from eating that too. He’d been so hungry, and the small thing had not been nowhere near enough to sate him, his hunger awakened by the few bites he’d taken. He’d also rather die before he asked for more. As such he curled up more tightly, burying his face against the side of the thub and whimpering.  
Stupid, disgusting filthy monster. He did not want any ‘luxuries’ or ‘pleasantries’, he certainly did not want to travel around the world, but most of all, his skin crawled with the mere thought of having to obey the warlord’s every whim.  
All he wanted was home.  
A plus carpet of green grass beneath his feet as he ran, his mother’s embrace, his father’s wise advice, his brother’s company, the warmth of his own soft bed and his own soft pillow. All he wanted was to smile.  
No eight thousand golden coins, nor eight million thousand of them, neither three thousand loyal fighting men would ever give him that, and the damn warlord was too stupid to ever understand that.  
From Raphael's perspective, however, he thought he had shown the boy much kindness.  
His imaginings of what the other bidders would have done with him were accurate. Some of them were even less horrific then the reality would have been. And yet here he was, serving him fruit off a silver platter, promising him such delights--and even promising to his slave that he would not touch him for the day! When he had every right to tease and stroke and ride the boy as he pleased.  
But still he found himself amiable to indulging him. Aside from his desire to see the boy rested and eating--which would likely not happen if he were to touch him--he could almost sympathize. Starting a new life, no matter how sweet it would be in the end, was never easy. He could not blame the boy for missing his home. And yet he also knew better then to over-indulge him for his loss. After all,  
it wasn't as if he'd been forced to watch his parents die, or stranded alone and starving in the middle of the desert--  
Don't cry. Are you lost? I'm a bit lost, too, but hey, at least we'll be lost together!  
He stiffened, and his nails dug reflexively into the side of the tub. He shook his head, let out a growl that prompted the boy to look nervously in his direction.  
Damn him--why had he come back, after so long? He had left in the past, yes, but it had never been for this long. He'd imagined the bastard was finally dead out in the desert, or got himself hung after he molested the wrong nobleman. But no, he'd come crawling back... where had he BEEN?  
Why was it bothering him so?  
He shoved away from the side of the basin, surging forward into the cool water and setting the boy to squeaking. But true to his word he did not move to touch the blonde, swam slow, brooding circles in the middle of the pool instead, paying no attention to his slave.  
He shoved away from the side of the basin, surging forward into the cool water and setting the boy to squeaking. But true to his word he did not move to touch the blonde, swam slow, brooding circles in the middle of the pool instead, paying no attention to his slave.  
He was nothing to him. Just a rat that, out of the kindness of his heart, he took pity on and threw food at now and then. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less.  
He was nothing like him. He would be good to his people--all of them.  
Alphonse had somewhat relaxed after realizing that the man's sudden flare of temper wasn't directed at him, doing nothing more than keeping an eye on his captor as he swam past him. But then finally Raphael returned to his place at the opposite end of the pool, leaned out over the rim.  
The blonde squeaked as a bundle of grapes narrowly missed his head, landing in the water with a loud plop. Raphael was grinning at him, leaned back against the wall of the tub as before.  
"Oops, missed."  
The boy stared at him like a trapped mouse. Raphael's grin slowly faded, and then with a sigh he leaned further back, selecting a few fruits for himself.  
"Once you've eaten a bit more, perhaps I can get some clothes on you and take you for a tour of the house."  
The boy’s eyes drifted away from the man, settled on the grapes gently floating on the water besides him. He swatted at them, and they floated away.  
“It’s d-dirty…” Oh what a picky little bastard. Did he know how expensive those fruits were on the dessert? How valuable the perfectly clean water they floated in was?  
No, he did not, and honestly speaking, he did not care either. His was eyeing Raphael wearily again, still clinging to his side of the basin.  
“I don’t w-want to see your house, I just want t-to drink some water, get dressed and go to sleep. Y-you promised that was all I had to do, and you wouldn’t touch m-me”  
Not for today at the very least…  
The boy kept watching him cautiously, going silent as he did so, but then his eyes shifted down to the half empty fruit bowl by the warlord’s side, and he grimaced.  
For a moment, Raphael thought he saw…was that contempt on the boy’s face?  
“Are fruits the…only thing you ever eat?”  
Raphael did not immediately respond to the boy's question, instead shifted his gaze to lazily regard the grapes drifting away across the pool. If he remembered correctly, that particular bunch had come from one of the larger tribes living beside the river. His troops had had to butcher about fifty of their men before they had agreed to pay him tribute.  
And the water, well... winning the oasis had been even bloodier.  
"The water in this basin comes from an underground offshoot of the Entez river. It is the purest water to be found in the country... and yet you call the grapes dirty. Why?"  
The boy's eyes narrowed, dropped down to regard his captor's waist before abruptly darting up again, hateful. Raphael laughed.  
"Such a fussy little thing. I offered you fruit because it is one of the most precious sweets we have, but yes, we have other foods."  
With that Raphael finally stood, picking up a long piece of cloth and draping it around himself before calling out for a servant to tend to him. Alphonse remained in the tub a moment longer, hesitant, but when his master bid him exit he finally scurried out, grabbing a cloth himself and hiding under it, as far from the man as he could get.  
He did not move again until the rattle of a plate being set down echoed from before him, the boy peeping his head out just enough to see what was going on. A golden platter had been set before him, with a small but full roasted bird taking up the center, and various vegetables and breads spaced around it. The smell was impossibly tempting, the boy swallowing weakly at the sight.  
He looked up at the sound of noises, to regard a servant girl carefully unloading more things; a few jugs filled with liquid, and a meal that matched his, likely Raphael's rather then seconds for himself. She was also carrying something draped across her shoulder, and she set this down once she had finished unloading the supper, finally bowing and exiting.  
It was a shirt and pair of pants, made of fine gold silk, thin and delicate in make but certainly better then nakedness.  
"If you finish eating all that, perhaps you can have some frozen cream as well."  
Raphael settled down before the boy, drawing his own food close and lifting up a fine leg of meat; but he paused before sinking his teeth in, smiled at the boy.  
"If any of our humble fare will appeal to your royal stomach, that is."  
The boy either ignored him or had ceased to pay attention to him altogether, his eyes fixed hungrily on the food, the boy’s stomach rumbling loudly at the sight. But even then, when he surged forward he did not grab the plate, instead went for the clothes, examining them briefly before he decided they would have to do.  
It was when he began trying to put them on that he found himself in a great dilemma. He finally raised his eyes towards Raphael, glared silently at him for a few moments before he spoke.  
“D-don’t look” The boy wanted some privacy.  
Raphael’s only answer o that was to smirk, keeping his eyes fixed on him.  
“I only promised I wouldn’t touch…for today” He added, having no qualms with reminding the boy of the exact terms of their deal.  
Alphonse’s eyes narrowed even further, the boy shuddering as he let out an angry little sound that his master found most endearing. Then the boy turned away and took the clothes with him to a corner, turning away from Raphael and doing his best to keep his hold on the towel while he put the clothes on. He managed wonderfully to keep his body covered at all times, but Raphael found himself pleased with the sight of him wriggling around.  
And for the first time since he bought him, the boy walked hastily back towards him, discarding the towel on his way and dropping to the floor as he reached the plate, began eating almost immediately, tearing into meat and vegetables alike, not even pausing to admire taste or texture. He dimly wondered what kind of bird they’d roasted, concluded that most likely they had very little food in the desert, not nearly enough to properly feed their chickens, resulting in tiny starved little things. Even then, the food was enough for him, and by the end of it he found himself licking the grease off his fingers, his devilish captor entirely forgotten.  
But as the boy attacked his plate, Raphael seemed quite oblivious to his, watching his slave raptly as the small blonde tore into his food. The way those nimble fingers moved, the way he greedily sucked at his skin once he had finished... ah.  
As he considered the heat between his legs he realized that being patient with the boy for a week was going to be highly difficult. He so badly wanted a good, hard fuck, just like--  
He bit his lip. Shit, he kept--he really should have killed him ages ago. This was not convenient in the slightest.  
As he considered the heat between his legs he realized that being patient with the boy for a week was going to be highly difficult. He so badly wanted a good, hard fuck, just like—  
"Would you like some frozen cream, Alphonse?"  
"N--" the boy's stomach growled; he bit his lip and stared hard at the ground for a moment before nodding, a faint flush creeping to his face. He glowered all the more fiercely when Raphael laughed.  
The dish that the servant brought out was one that was familiar to the boy, but only distantly; a faint memory of his younger years, when a trader had visited his family's home and offered them the treat as thanks for their hospitality. Despite his wishes to remain firmly silent throughout all of his 'host's' meal, he had hardly lifted a spoonful of the sweet to his lips before he let out a little sound of delight, the chilled and sugary substance a heavenly delight after nearly three days of heat and misery and starvation.  
These small sounds of joy continued until he caught Raphael watching him, at which point he went utterly mute, much to his captor's dismay.  
The dish was empty too quickly, but he found himself full after, finishing a jug of juice off with one last gulp and letting his head tip drowsily against his chest. With the persistent pang of hunger abated, the desire to sleep had suddenly grown much stronger...  
And still Raphael watched, greedily. The boy looked so precious and vulnerable as he all but drifted off to sleep before his eyes, head tucked down, limbs drawn in close, the silk hanging loosely off his thin frame. Ah, how he wanted to press him back against the ground, stroke his newly filled belly, work finger after finger into his tight, resistant flesh--  
"Come, Alphonse, it's time for you to sleep, but you shall not do so here."  
The boy jerked awake at his words, peering anxiously up at him; Raphael rose to his feet, gesturing for the blonde to follow, moving towards the doorway.  
The boy considered for a moment, rubbing tiredly at his eyes as he tried to decide if it was worth the effort to stand up and follow. They’d agreed he’d sleep, yes, and he wanted nothing more than to drift into slumber, but they had never said where he should do so.  
Finally and with an unhappy little moan, the boy rose slowly to his feet, following into step behind Raphael as he lead the way. The warlord was pleased at how the boy obediently followed him, trailing after him like a puppy, not once attempting to escape or objecting.  
Not even as they finally reached the bedroom again, Raphael tugging the door to the cage open. He watched as the boy crawled inside on his own accord without making a pep. He crawled to the back of the cage, tugging the furs around him once more, turning his back on his captor as he slumped against the fluffy cushions that littered his prison.  
Raphael was surprised by the blond’s sudden submission, after spending the precious hours doing nothing but struggling and screaming and kicking…he had simply made himself captive again, not even keeping an eye on him to see if he would truly hold the end of his promise. And the boy did believe he would keep it, especially now that he’d been locked down once more. The man would not touch him while he was inside, would have him yanked out when he planned to use him. Being put in the cage meant no more torture for the day, meant he could rest easily for a while, until he was pulled back outside, vulnerable to the man’s dirty hands.  
His owner could not hear his thoughts, but he could guess at them, The warlord knew very well that obedience did not neccessarily mean loyalty. The boy had behaved simply so that he would not be touched, and when tomorrow came--and the touching returned--he would be a screaming little rebel once more.  
Yet Raphael found himself content. The boy had eaten, and drank, and now he was at long last getting some rest. He would be in far better condition tomorrow, and that gave him the go-ahead to begin the boy's training in earnest. It would still be a slow process, yes, but it was a beginning--and seeing the boy squirm and cry at his caresses would satisfy him in its own way.  
However, there were still far too many hours between the present and tomorrow's dawn, and it would do him no good to stay there looking at the boy and tempting himself in the meanwhile. Ah, it would be such an easy thing to break his promise, force himself upon his young slave, but... trust was a more powerful tool then strength at times. If he could teach the boy that his word would be kept, then  
no matter how much he might struggle in the meantime, when he swore he would not harm him the boy would go so obediently still and do as bidden. It would be a useful way to make sure his young slave remained fed and rested, at least until he broke him into full obedience.  
He shivered softly at the thought, but then stood, sighing. The sun was still high, and as such he supposed he had things to be doing. He checked the lock on the cage once more, assured himself that the boy was resting peacefully, and then he departed, moving out to check on his camp.  
However--rather to his dismay--there was little that needed to be done. He had planned to purchase a slave since nearly a month past, and he had prepared for it in more ways then one; aside from purchasing clothing and jewelry and 'toys,' he had also readied his camp for a month of celebration and feasting. They had raided and plundered and demanded tribute with unusual ferocity, and in doing so h  
had obtained enough food to keep the entire camp well-fed for several months, more than enough time for their lord to break in his new pet before the raids began again. His men would be content and merry and he would be free to enjoy his slave at leisure.  
As such, after speaking with a few scouts and reading a few letters, he found himself with nothing to do but wander. And as he wandered, his mind did as well, straying back on the sequence of events that had led to his purchase.  
...He would never confess it, but he had been lonely. He had been lonely for nearly a year.  
When he had first noticed such a foolish thing, he had assumed it was nothing more then a result of sexual hunger. Accordingly he had made love to many men and many women, satisfying that most carnal need--but never satisfying the emptiness. In time, disgusted, he had simply given up. Fucking was pleasant, but in his current state it had seemed more like a mockery then a satisfaction.  
He had assumed his temporary celibacy would make the feeling leave him, but it had only grown worse. Months had dragged on, and the... person... who had entertained his thoughts had not returned. And so he had decided to buy a slave, someone who could be trained to please him, someone who would never leave his side.  
His plan had been to buy a female--they were more docile, more easily made love to then males, and also as far removed from the object of his frustrations as possible--but then the goblins had paraded their precious prize in front of him and what choice had he had? He was the most beautiful creature he had seen in years.  
He made a mental note to check in to the goblin's sales more frequently, although he imagined it would be a long, long time before they carried such precious stock again. But still, just think what one might do with /two/...  
The day crawled slowly by, and finally Raphael returned to his tent, slipping inside just as the last edge of the sun vanished under the dull horizon. He moved immediately to his bedroom, peered in at his slave once again--still asleep, as he'd hoped--and then turned to face his own bedding.  
If he slept now, it meant he would be sped along to the dawn, at which point he could return to fondling the boy. And yet he found himself restless, uneasy, settling down in a crouch rather then laying to rest against his pillows.  
...He had chosen such a poor time to return. But it was for the best. The boy would never leave him, after all, and that was worth more to him then anything else.  
The thought made him rather giddy. He allowed himself to grin, even as his eyes flickered between hatred and remorse. No, it was settled, and everything would be better now. Tomorrow... but tomorrow was still a ways off, and he was hungry.  
He undressed slowly, but did not bother putting on his bed clothes, instead lowered his hands to caress himself. The boy could not ease his appetite tonight, and so he would have to ease it himself--  
"Starting without me, huh?"  
He whipped around, jaws parting in disbelief even as his eyes narrowed in outrage. There--the goddamn cocky bastard--standing right there--in his bedroom--!  
"Caught you with your pants down, I see," Lucian said, cheerfully. Raphael snapped out of his shock, hands dropping to his sides with a snarl, but then his expression went carefully blank again as he realized that his clothing--and thus his weapon--was pinned beneath the other man's foot.  
"A bit careless tonight, huh? Then again, I suppose you didn't want your pretty new pet cutting himself--"  
"How the hell did you get in?!"  
"Why don't you ask yourself that, Raph? Guards don't let in people who are uninvited, you know."  
Lucian paused, tilted his head.  
"...Well, at least not without making a damned fuss they don't. But look at you! Really the same old Raphael, aren't you? I can see you swelling~"  
A prolonged and hateful hiss on the other man's part, even as the faintest flush stole over his face.  
"It's not--I was--fuck you, Lucian!"  
"Ah, well, we're getting to that. We both know I caught you before you started, so I guess it's my job to make up for interupting, hm?"  
For a moment Raphael only stared, breath quickening. But then his eyes narrowed and his lips curled back and he threw himself at the other man, all but screaming in rage, striking at his chest, biting at his skin--crumpling against him, shaking.  
"Damn you... damn you... damn you, you were gone for so long, I..."  
Lucian drew the other man close, stroking his back soothingly and murmuring softly into his ear.  
"But I came back, didn't I? So let us move on to better things."  
In short order Raphael wasn't the only one undressed, the two men grinding together with savage ferocity, fingers curling around one another's skin, hardness rubbed to hardness, lips meeting lips with wild abandon. In a matter of minutes Lucian had the smaller man pinned back against the floor, head ducking down between the warlord's legs, Raphael's cries growing as he grasped at the other's hair.  
So wonderful was the pleasure that the warlord seemed to have forgotten they weren’t alone. Alphonse, meanwhile, became suddenly aware of that fact.  
His eyes had snapped open as Raphael’s cries steadily rose in pitch, drawing him back from his peaceful slumber. At first, the man’s voice had only caused his sweet dreams to turn into horrid nightmares. When the man’s cries got louder, he woke up with a start and a whimper. He whipped around, his fears that the man would try to break his promise making him search for danger. He did not find anyone looming over him ready to pounce, but what he saw made his stomach twist with disgust.  
The blond twisted away, face reddening with shame. He wanted to yell at them, throw a pillow and demand they take their disgusting act elsewhere; he had been dreaming of home, before they twisted his thoughts against him…  
But while he was angry, he was scared as well. They didn’t seem to have notice his movements, or his pitiful cries, were mainly focused on one another. He did not want to think of what they’d do if he reminded them he was there.  
With another whimper, the boy peered briefly at them to make sure they hadn’t seen them, slowly sunk back down against the pillows. He curled up, wrapping himself more tightly in his furs as he pulled a pair of pillows against his ears to muffle the horrid sounds. He was still so tired, and yet he was sure he would not be able to sleep any more tonight. He’d spend the night awake, reminded constantly of the horrors that awaited him in the morning.  
The two men remained oblivious to both Alphonse's awakening and to his disgust, too focused on one another and their own pleasure to pay attention to anything beside themselves. Bestial grunts and gutteral moans issued from them both, the two going quite far with their foreplay, squeezing and massaging and suckling at one another. But this balance of pleasure soon tipped farther one way then the  
other, Raphael's breathing growing increasingly ragged and his attempts to please the other faltering as he began trembling with approaching climax.  
Lucian found this delightful, pinned the other man beneath him with a soft chuckle, sliding a finger into the smaller man's entrance and enjoying the way he arched and cried out.  
"You've gotten pretty tight since I saw you last. Should I treat you like a virgin, my lord?"  
"N-No--I-I want--I need it--"  
"Yes yes, I know you do, but before we do that, let's do something else~"  
Raphael managed to force his eyes open against the pleasure as he felt himself pressed up against something cold and stiff. He snapped more fully to attention upon realizing what said object was, however, let out an irritated growl when he found himself pinned back against the cage, erection sticking out between the bars. His disapproving hiss soon turned back into cries of pleasure, however,  
Lucian reaching through the cage and jerking firmly at the other's shaft, grinning all the while.  
"Spray the kid, Raph, spray the kid!"  
But Raphael answered that with a snarl, seeming to regain himself for the first time since the man's appearance, forcing himself back and away from the cage with raw strength and whipping around in the larger man's hold, sinking his teeth into his shoulder. Lucian let out a startled squeak at this, drawing back and giving the other a hurt look. Raphael did not apologize, wiped the blood from his  
lips and spat.  
"Let him be."  
"So boring. I guess asking if he can join us is out of the question, then?"  
Alphonse stiffened imperceptibly beneath the blankets, heart pounding.  
"...No. He was a virgin only yesterday, and I wouldn't trust you to be gentle. Besides... am I not enough for you?"  
Raphael shifted forward, rubbing his entrance skillfully against the other's groin, making Lucian's breath catch in his throat. But the black haired man didn't immediately let the subject drop, eyes shifting to the blonde before they moved to the warlord.  
"That's not it. But apparently I wasn't enough for you, or you wouldn't have bought that fine little ass, now would you?"  
"Says the one asking to taste it."  
"...Heh."  
Lucian closed his eyes, smiling, and a moment later he slammed forward, sheathing himself in the other as Raphael let out a cry of absolute delight.  
The two were at it for a long time. Alphonse didn't dare move, but he could still hear it, the horrible sounds continuing for far longer then he had even thought possible. By his guesses hours had passed before they fell silent, and even then the boy remained stiff, not feeling safe in the slightest.  
The two men had concluded their lovemaking on their sides, belly to belly, and when it had finished Raphael had promptly curled in closer to the other and given in to exhaustion, hiding his face against the other's chest as he drifted off to sleep. Lucian, however, remained awake, gently stroking his lover's back, letting the minutes pass by.  
"...Raphael?"  
No response.  
"Hey, Raph, you awake?"  
Still silence.  
"Heyyy buddy I'm going to go tap your slave's ass, silence means you're cool with that!"  
Still nothing, and Lucian's grin widened as his eyes narrowed. He drew carefully back from the warlord, getting up and stretching before strutting cheerfully over to the boy's cage. The key was hanging on a hook nearby, and he seized it deftly, had the lock opened and was looming over the young blonde in a matter of seconds.  
He clasped a heavy hand down on the slave's shoulder, Alphonse instantly twisting to face him, eyes dilated with terror as Lucian grinned.  
"Hey there, little guy! When I'm done riding you you won't have to worry about HIS little cock hurting you any more, that much I can promise."  
And just as he finished those words, the man reached out with his other hand, clasping it tightly over the blond’s mouth as his other hand reached down, began pulling the boy’s silken pants downwards while he crouched over him, his manhood still sticking proudly upwards.  
It was about that moment when the boy bit him.  
Lucian barely kept down a screech, yanking his hand back away from him, the boy spitting out a strip of skin from his mouth, Lucian bleeding all over him.  
“WHY YOU LITTLE—“  
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”  
The boy screamed at the top of his lungs, the furs covering him flying upwards as he kicked and scratched wildly, causing the man to momentarily wince away rather than move forward to strangle him.  
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!”  
“SHUT UP!”  
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” A moment later a pillow smacked the man square on the face, and then another one, followed by two more. It dazed him. Lucian slammed the next one away before it could hit him, snarling down at Alphonse—or at least at the spot where he’d been, whipped around to find the boy careening out of the cage even as he tugged his pants up and kept on screaming, running past the bed and leaping over the warlord’s body. He threw himself on the floor as he reached one of the walls to the tent, yet again wedging himself under the fabric and wiggling frantically out, just like he’d done only the night before.  
Raphael's eyes had shot open the second the boy had first started screaming, his mind taking only a second to process the present; the fact that Lucian was no longer by his side, the man's snarls coming from the direction of the cage, his slave's shrill screams. He jerked upwards, immediately drawing a knife from beneath his pillows--only to have the blonde go leaping over him, shooting once more  
for the wall like the most damnable little mouse.  
With a sharp curse the warlord was after him, and this time he caught him; his hand closed firmly around the boy's ankle, pulling him back into the tent as the young thing's screams reached an all new pitch, the small thing struggling more fiercely then Raphael had ever seen him do so before.  
But even the most violent of his thrashes was nothing compared to the warlord's strength, the man pinning him down with his weight much as he had in the bathing room, trapping the boy's arms beneath his body and holding him relatively still as he writhed. With his slave thus secured, his eyes whipped immediately up towards Lucian, a rising snarl surging out of his throat as the other man grinned  
weakly and held up his hands.  
"Oh hey, looks like you WERE prepared for intruders! But you didn't pull the knife on me before so that means everything is all good between us, right--"  
The blade went hurtling through the air, missing the other man's shoulder by an inch, and only because the other male had known well enough what was coming. With a dismayed sigh Lucian promptly took off, sprinting bare-bottomed out the door and likely out of the tent, Raphael's enraged shrieks rising behind him.  
"Guards! Guards--KILL him!"  
A great clamor rose up outside the walls of the room, the sounds of weapons being drawn, and only then did Raphael return his attention to the boy beneath him. The young thing was still screaming.  
In a few deft movements the warlord wound a blanket around the blonde's slim body, the fabric both serving to restrain him and also, or so Raphael hoped, serving as a way to help calm him down. He held the boy close--but not too close, as he hadn't failed to notice the blood streaking the boy's teeth--petting the young thing's hair gently.  
"Shh, shh, it's alright now. Did he touch you?"  
“YOU are touching me!” Was the boy’s snarled response, still wriggling and trashing and generally trying to get away from him, all in vain.  
He trashed and screamed some more for good measure, and when he wasn’t able to pry himself free, he turned his whole attention to glaring and hissing at the man holding him down.  
“L-let me go! It’s still dark outside, it’s not tomorrow yet and you promised!”  
Raphael narrowed his eyes, glaring while the boy tried yet again to kick him without success.  
“I promised I wouldn’t touch you as long as you did not attempt to run”  
“I was running away from HIM!” The boy hissed back, jerking roughly once in the warlord’s hold as if to demonstrate his unhappiness with the whole affair. Not that Raphael cared.  
“Yes, and I rescued you, you ungrateful thing-“  
“Liar” Raphael was taken slightly aback by the hatred in the blond’s voice as he spat that particular word, the boy glaring right into his eyes.  
“I am not a liar, Alphonse, if I had not gotten between you he would have—“  
“I h-heard you” Ah, yes. The boy had remained so still and quiet through the whole thing, he’d believed he slept through the whole thing, had even forgotten his existence through most of it.  
“If you ever saved me from anything, it was o-only for yourself…I h-heard you, you were going to break your promise and let him t-touch me as well, the only reason you didn’t was because you didn’t want him to…t-to…” The boy seemed to choke on the words, closing his eyes as tear leapt to them before he shook his head and croaked.  
“H-hurt me…much” He finally said, opening his eyes yet again to glare at Raphael once again.  
“You want to do that yourself” He hissed, stating rather than questioning.  
“You have that other…man to do your nasty things with you, you don’t need me for that, the only reason you have me here is so you can make me suffer, and every second I can spend away from you will be a blessing, so let me g-go!”  
At the boy's words the warlord's eyes narrowed very, very slowly. For a moment he simply stared down at the smaller male, and in that moment Alphonse suddenly felt all the hateful words settling back in his stomach, a cold chill running along his spine as those pitiless eyes burned into his. There had been some warped trace of mercy in them before, but now there was nothing.  
Ever so slowly the man turned his head, taking in the sight of a long stand of hourglasses nestled alongside the far edge of the room.  
"...By my calculations, the promise is over."  
He struck the boy once, twice, thrice across the face, not viciously enough to bruise his pretty pale skin but more than sharply enough to hurt. The boy's cries of pain was cut short by a choking gasp, the man's hand thrusting its way into the blanket and into his pants, squeezing and grinding against his manhood. Raphael held him firmly still as he tortured him, the young blonde writhing and  
shrieking beneath him as he was roughly fondled, the pain and pleasure mixing--  
The next thing he was aware of was a wet warmth dripping down his thighs and pants, the small slave sobbing wretchedly in shame as Raphael finally withdrew, hissing.  
"When your master protects you, you will be grateful for it. I had no intentions to let him touch you at all, gently or not. But /I/ will touch you as I please. The only choice you have in the matter is whether or not you would like to recieve pain as well."  
He grabbed the boy by the nape and dragged him back over to the cage, throwing him carelessly inside and shutting and locking the door with a slam. Lucian had dropped the key on the floor, and Raphael picked it carefully up, yanking his knife out of the tent fabric before stalking back over to his bedding and lying down, both weapon and key tucked beside him. He had planned to comfort the boy,  
assure him that the man would not return and move to sleep protectively close to his cage, but now he had very little interest in reassuring his slave at all. Let him spend the rest of the night wide awake and wet and miserable, and he'd do whatever he damn pleased with him tomorrow.  
What a waste.  
The boy laid where he’d been thrown, facing the cage’s entrance rather than turning his back on it as he normally did. His sides shook with sobs, and he curled up tightly while burying his face in his hands, sobbing. His one safe heaven was not safe anymore.  
He, he knew all along, the trade had not been worth it—his suffering would last longer now, and the man had moved to torture him again in a blink. His stomach twisted, and he felt like throwing up every single thing he’d eaten.  
Raphael let out an exasperated sigh, the boy sobbing loudly, disconsolately in his cage, not bothering to try and make himself go unnoticed on the least. The boy even went as far as to mutter a few little ‘I hate you so much’ between croaks and sobs  
Eventually however, the boy’s cries quieted down, turned into irregular sobs and quiet sniffles, his breathing calming down, and so the warlord was able to rest.  
He woke up with a start, a bright light shining onto his face, and he twisted away and opened his eyes, regarded the tear on the side of his tent. A stray ray of sunshine pointed directly at his pillow. He would have to get that fixed.  
He stretched, lazily, frowning as he remembered the events of the night prior, and then turned to regard his slave.  
As he gazed, the boy had remained awake through the night, the rings around his eyes slightly darker and bigger than they’d been the night before. He’d been watching him, and when Raphael caught his gaze, his eyes narrowed and he gave a small whimper, curling al the more tightly inside his glorified golden prison. He hadn’t bothered to cover himself with the furs or pillows, had instead shoved them as far away from him as he could through the night, laying on the cold hard floor of the cage.  
He gritted his teeth, lips stil smeared with dried blood, and let out a shaky growl.  
Raphael gazed impassively at him for a few moments before stretching, rising to his feet and turning his attention towards a chest in the corner of the room. He had given the boy a day to rest, as he had promised, and now the training would begin. His slave's stubbornness of the night prior would not change that.  
He gathered a few things from the thick wooden trunk before turning towards the young blonde, stretching a length of rope in his hands.  
"I would offer you food before we begin, but I feel that would be a waste."  
Alphonse's hisses grew all the louder as the man approached him, the boy pressing himself against the back of his cage, looking for all the world as if he truly were nothing but a locked-up animal. Raphael was hardly intimidated, however, opened the door and stepped inside, muscles flexing.  
What followed could hardly be described as a fight. The warlord restrained him so swiftly and so efficiently that there was little the boy could do but scream in ineffectual hatred as he was stripped of his clothing and bound, wrists and ankles firmly secured. He was lifted out and set carefully on the mass of pillows that composed his captor's bed, the frail thing hissing and struggling and  
squirming like mad.  
Raphael ignored the boy's fit, however, simply stooping to pick up one of the other objects he'd retrieved from his trunk before moving to straddle his writhing captive. Alphonse's cries grew all the louder as he felt something being slipped around his shaft, something like a sheath of fabric, covering him from base to top with only the very tip of his manhood poking out.  
But despite being bound and thus humiliated, it seemed that whatever the warlord was planning required still more preperation. He seized the boy's wrists and pulled them down so that he was all but touching his own sex, hands nestled down between his thighs, and Alphonse felt yet more string being wound around his current bonds. Once he had finished with that task, however, Raphael did not release  
his hands, kept them still with one hand as he seized the boy's ankles in the other, forcing the blonde's knees up and against his chest before adding extra binding to him there as well.  
Only when the man had finished this did he let out a grunt of satisfaction, finally releasing the boy, drawing back. The position Alphonse found himself in was not one he cared for at all; his drawn-close legs clearly exposed far too much of himself to touch, and he did not like to imagine what the man would force him to do with his own hands. As such, he immediately moved to pull both hands and  
legs away from his groin, hissing--  
Only to let out an absolutely strangled cry of pain as the fabric around his shaft viciously tightened. The boy curled up against the agony in instinct, sobbing--and found the pressure relieved. He opened his eyes and stared through blurry vision at what sort of device the man had placed on him.  
It was indeed nothing more then a simple sheath of fabric, but it was also marked with paired sets of holes, from which strings emerged--strings that had been bound to the ropes tying him. At first he was confused, did not understand, but then he did; it very much resembled a modified version of the bags his family would use to store crops. The strings wove all through the fabric, and when they  
were pulled on, the fabric constricted, tightened--and thus, with his limbs held so close to his groin, any attempt made to move out of his compromised position would result in him sharply squeezing his manhood by his own actions.  
Raphael crouched beside the boy then, face impassive; Alphonse cried out softly as he felt the man applying the lotion to his entrance once more.  
"You will learn to stay still when your master touches you."  
The boy moved instinctively, trying to jerk away from the touch, and that only sent yet another bolt of pain running through his whole lithe frame. As soon as his cry of pain died off, it was immediately replaced with shaky sobs, the boy’s eyes widening in horror, shuddering sharply as the man kept rubbing his fingers against his entrance.  
No, no, no, no! The nightmare had started all again, and he hadn’t been able to do a single thing about it. He hadn’t thought it could have gotten any worse than when it began, but the monster kept surprising him. Now he was truly and utterly trapped.  
The man had given him some freedom of movement at the expense of horrible pain. He would be forced to remain obediently still, keeping up that exposed posture and willingly letting the man do with him as he wished, unable to struggle at all.  
His body shuddered with the urge to move away, to kick and scratch and try to run, to at the very least hide himself away.  
Raphael slipped a single finger in, and the boy let out a broken scream when he tried to kick him in the face as response.  
Even after claiming the boy’s innocence only two nights before, his body remained wonderfully tight. He still had to be careful as he began working him, unless he meant for the boy to feel nothing but pain when he claimed him, and despite his anger at him at the moment, that had not been the point of getting him at all.  
He would teach him pleasure, he would teach him to answer how he wished it and when he willed it, to moan and arch and beg for more, to enjoy his touch so much he sought to touch him by his own will. None of that would happen if he left the boy bloody and screaming.  
If Alphonse had known his thoughts, he would have screamed that it would never happen, that his skin crawled with disgust every time he came close to him, that he felt like dying whenever he touched him. But Alphonse could not read minds. Instead he’d closed his eyes and shuddered, sobbing freely, only pausing to bite down on his lip when a stray moan threatened to escape him.  
Ah. How much sweeter the boy sounded, and how much easier he was to manage, when he was being pleasured. As the blonde's misery heightened Raphael experienced the very opposite sensation, the end to his slave's incessant fussing and the sight of his rising cock quite soothing, easing the temper with which he had awoken.  
How melodic his voice was when he wasn't screaming stupidly and saying foolish things! For one who had so hatefully claimed that two men could not make love, his body was answering ever so well, his master's single teasing finger serving to harden him.  
Raphael paused, applied more lotion, inserted a second digit. The boy replied with little more then a shiver and a half-choked moan.  
To be truthful, he had been slightly concerned about using this particular restraint on the boy. He had envisioned nightmarish scenarios in which the stupid little thing all but severed his own manhood, either from damnably stubborn resistance or from instinctive struggling. But it seemed that pain was indeed the greatest teacher of all, his slave for the most part remaining compliantly still.  
He would keep it in mind for the future. If kindness would not teach the boy obedience, then suffering would, and he knew many ways in which to hurt his victim without damaging his beauty.  
He paused in his stroking of the boy's insides to examine his member; he had swollen fully by now, filling the sheath snuggly, and the first drips were appearing on the tip of him. Not wanting him to make a mess, Raphael carefully tugged on the fabric, pulling it up slightly and folding the extra cloth over the head of his slave's sex.  
A third finger was slipped in. Alphonse could not bite down the moan that resulted.  
The boy released shortly after, crying out sweetly and shivering, thoroughly dampening the fabric that covered his shaft. Raphael waited patiently as the boy hit his peak, still stroking him gently, dipping down to lay a gentle kiss on his pouches before he straightened up once more. The blonde finished, andd then he lay there panting, and still Raphael waited.  
Only when his slave's breathing had grown even again did the warlord lean forward, speaking in a soft murmur to his pet.  
"I am going to give you a choice, Alphonse. Either your training can continue, or we may pause for some time so you may eat and rest."  
The boy didn't answer, eyes squeezed closed and head turned to the side. Raphael continued regardless.  
"If you wish to rest, however, you must do one thing. You must address me as master, and apologize for your ungrateful behavior."  
The boy’s eyes opened at those words, settled on his, narrowing hatefully.  
He could still feel the man’s warm fingers inside him, shifting ever so softly, his thumb reaching upwards to gently stroke the soft sacs above his entrance—and the rings. The damn, cold rings. Like before, the man had not bothered to remove them before molesting him. The bastard probably drew pleasure from being able to so casually toy with his body as he saw fit.  
Raphael stroked the boy’s insides once again, drawing impatient with the lack of response from his slave. His movements coaxed a long shudder and a miserable whimper, the boy going stiff and closing his eyes before he opened them again to glare at him once more.  
After breaking his last promise only hours prior, the man thought he’d fall into his trap yet again—even worse, that he’d submit to him, accept he’d become a slave in exchange on measly lies and thank him for all the suffering he had brought him? Damn him.  
“T-thank you…for making my l-life a living h-hell, you disgusting—A-aaah!”  
Raphael had not liked that on the least, his own eyes narrowing, temper returning. He pulled his fingers back, shoved them roughly into the boy, causing the blond to arch and cry out in pain, the pitch only rising when he instinctively tried to jerk away, tightening the fabric painfully around his manhood. For a brief moment, Raphael was afraid of his visions coming true. The boy kept struggling against his bonds, even through the haze of his pain, wanting desperately away from his captor’s touch. But in the end the pain won, and the blond’s struggles subsided, leaving him sobbing loudly instead as he shuddered on the tip of Raphael’s fingers.  
“I-I hate y-you…I-I hate you I h-hate you I hate y-you I h-hate you!” He began suddenly chanting in between sobs, repeating the words over and over again as if chanting, as if some of his misery could slip out of him along with his words.  
Such a mouth on the little thing. It would be a relief in more then one way when he taught him to use it for better purposes. For now, though, a muzzle might be in order, although...  
No. His slave would be making sweeter noises soon enough.  
He changed his rhythm, altering the pace of his slow pushing in and out of the boy to match the timing of his pathetic little chant, taunting him. It was not long before Alphonse's tempo wavered and broke, the young thing arching and quivering in his hold, his choked words dying under a weak cry.  
Raphael paused then, however, withdrawing his fingers and wiping them on the boy's thighs before he rose to his feet, moving slightly forward to stand over the boy.  
"Such a disobedient creature. But I am a kind master, and I will feed you all the same."  
The boy let out another shaky snarl, glaring up at the man as Raphael slowly moved to grip his own cock. He was already hard--how could he not be, with such a sight before him?--and it would not take long. He was expecting.his pet to close his eyes and turn away, but apparently he did not realize what was coming. Cute.  
The confusion and disgust on Alphonse's face turned quickly to horror and misery, the hot spray raining down over his head and throat. Some of the fluid landed in his mouth, choking and bitter. He spat and cried out in ineffectual rage, humiliation and hate mixing into a clump in his chest, heart constricting.  
"Not to your taste? Yet I imagine in a few days you'll be begging for it."  
The man moved to settle himself beside the boy's legs again, making himself comfortable as he picked up his toy of choice.  
"You will not eat until you begin to behave."  
Alphonse let out another broken scream as he felt the man preparing him again, another dose of the salve, a large dose that could mean only one thing. And yet even as the tears coursed down his face he did little more then squirm, aware that lashing out would bring him no freedom, but only even worse misery.  
However... what he felt pressed against him was not hot, the way... the way it... had been... before. It was cool and rounded, strange, and the boy let out a frightened whimper, gazing helplessly towards his legs but unable to see what was happening.  
Raphael paused at his slave's distress, catching the boy's gaze. The intrusion of the new thing abruptly stopped, and then the warlord lifted up something strange.  
It was a series of golden beads, all held together by a slim but powerful looking chain. Round and... cold...  
Raphael lowered the item again, and the strange sensation returned once more, the man beginning to ease the first sphere into his captive's entrance.  
His slave’s voice filled with a whole new pitch of desperation. The chanting had been forgotten, replaced only with broken crying and sharp shudders. The blond’s tears fell to mix with the man’s seed on his face, running down his cheeks and onto the soft sheets below them. All he could do was shudder and cry.  
Raphael pushed the first orb a little past halfway in, then watched as the boy’s body did the rest. The tight muscles wrapped securely around it, enveloping, drawing it further in. The warlord bit down on his lower lip, let out a hiss of delight and shivered, one of his hands curling onto the bed sheets below.  
Ah yes, he remembered how it had felt, to have the boy warm and tight around him, constricting him and trying to draw him in further, keep him from pulling back in sharp opposition to the boy’s sobbed protests.  
And this time he could set a rougher pace, enjoy his slave’s flesh to the fullest, for as long as he wished. It wouldn’t be long now before he was fully prepared to receive him.  
Alphonse jerked again as the man began carefully pushing the second orb into him, the cold metal making him shudder as it slowly slid inside him, slick with salve, the man’s fingers tracing his entrance as it went in.  
His slave's hapless little cries aroused him more then he liked to admit. Hah, at this rate he would be needing to cover his shaft more than the boy did... or, at the very least, tuck his member in where it would not make a mess. And he would. Soon, so very soon.  
He dabbed a little more lotion around the boy's flesh before easing in a third, cooing comfort to the blonde as he wept. Going in like this was not so much an issue as expanding in thickness was. The beads on this particular chain were small, and he could fit in a few more.  
If Alphonse's sex hadn't been so snuggly wrapped he would have kissed and teased at it as he worked the boy, but as it was he shifted his attentions once more to his sacs, kneading and squeezing gently at them with one hand as he rolled the beads with his other. He wished he could touch and ravage every bit of the boy all at once, kiss his lips as he fucked him, fondle both his manhood and his  
chest--  
He was abruptly reminded of something Lucian had said, about people having so many parts to pleasure that clearly they were meant to be shared. The thought made him scowl, and he pushed the next bead in somewhat more roughly then intended, his slave's cries rising sharply. Considering the boy's behavior, however, he wasn't much inclined to care.  
One last application of cream, one final bead, and he drew back to admire his work. Half the length of the thing was in the boy, his tiny slave mewling and shivering, every fitful shudder of his body causing the remaining beads to wraggle like some tempting tail.  
It was time for him to make his entrance, but for that, the beads would have to come out.  
He took a gentle grip on them near where they entered the boy's body, then turned his eyes to greedily examine his slave's face as he began drawing them out.  
Pulling them out was just as much hard work as it had been to push them in, and he had to be careful and slow.  
Alphonse kept his eyes closed through all of it, twisted away from all of it as best as he could, lips tightly shut, only parting every once in a while to let a sob or a moan escape him.  
The blond shuddered and arched as the first bead was pulled out, whimpering softly, his face red with shame. He looked so cute like that, blushing and sobbing and covered in his cum, white strings clinging persistently to his hair and lashes, a perfect compliment to his pale skin where the tears had not washed it out.  
The next bead’s departure was greeted similarly, and the next one, leaving only one remaining inside. Raphael hesitated for a moment, one hand curled around the boy’s tight while the other clung to the beads, his eyes fixed on the bound boy before him.  
He yanked the last one out, and Alphonse arched and cried out so beautifully at it, his eyes snapping open as he sobbed. It brought a smile to the man’s face.  
The boy settled back down after a few moments, the sudden movement making him jerk against his bonds, causing the fabric to tighten painfully around his manhood. It took his body a moment to stop its instinctual struggles, and by then the boy was left panting. His body had been ravished again, covered in the man’s filth, bound so he would be of better use, like a thing.  
Raphael’s words echoed in his mind ‘You will not eat until you begin to behave.’  
He would die, then.  
His slave’s body had remained stiff, muscles drawn taught through the whole ordeal, but Raphael noticed the sudden change when the boy simply went entirely limp. The effects of his new position made his legs tug at the cords and tightened the cloth painfully around his shaft as his feet touched the bed below. But the only signs of discomfort were a low pained moan and a sharp shudder, his eyes closing, the boy doing nothing but lay there and sob, knowing the torture would continue no matter what he did.  
Raphael watched the boy impassively for a few minutes, waiting for him to readjust, move to relieve his pain. But still the stubborn little thing remained motionless, agonized tears trailing down his cheeks, his swollen cock clamped viciously tight within the bundle of fabric.  
The warlord reached forward, traced a hand carefully down the sheath. As he suspected, it had constricted too far for him to tug it away. A quick check of the strings he'd tied to the boy's original bindings showed that his struggles had knotted the two ropes firmly together.  
Bah.  
He stood and moved away, returning a moment later. Alphonse at first didn't respond, but he did when he felt something hard and pointed pressing against the base of his erection.  
The boy let out a piercing scream, all but convulsing in his attempts to get away, breaths coming fast and shallow in his terror. Raphael let out a displeased grunt, pressed an arm firmly across his slave's stomach, holding him relatively still before he wrenched upwards with the knife.  
The pressure on the blonde's cock relieved instantly, the young thing letting out a weak gasp as the pain fell away. Raphael drew back, carefully gathering up the sheath, cutting through the remaining strings and putting the fabric aside. He would have to have new strings added later, but that was no big issue--  
...the boy was already fighting to get away again. Stubborn, stupid little bastard.  
His helpless attempt to crawl got him nowhere, but the attempt still irritated his master. He moved to sit on the boy's waist, holding him still with his weight even as he shifted to regard the blonde's manhood.  
"As your foolishness has removed the only thing keeping you from creating a mess, I shall have to use something else. Perhaps it will serve to teach you that you can only act as your master wishes... even in matters of pleasure."  
And then there was something much like the thing before, but smaller, but it wasn't pressing--not against his entrance, but against--  
His screams and fitful struggles grew all the more violent, but Raphael ignored him entirely. He dabbed a bit of the salve from before not on the boy's entrance, but on the tip of his member, at a much smaller opening. And then he was working in another set of beads, one far smaller then the previous set, pushing one after another into the boy's rigid sex.  
The boy struggled frantically at this new torture, his legs kicking and fists pounding and pushing against the man’s back, trying to get him off of him and stop the horrible sensations he was causing him.  
“N-no get o-off stop—stop! It h-hurts!” The blond screamed, forming coherent words for the first time since he’d given up on his chant. But the boy’s words were nothing for Raphael, his weight effectively keeping the boy’s waist pinned down. He patiently kept slowly inserting the beads into his manhood.  
The blond’s cries rose, his struggles becoming wilder—until they became aggressive, Alphonse digging his nails into Raphael’s back and scrabbling, screaming at him to let go.  
He smacked him harshly with the back of his hand for his trouble, pausing on his work to glare at him with a dark expression as the boy subsided into dark little sobs, cupped his reddened cheek and gazed up at him with a frightened expression.  
Once assured that his slave would somewhat behave, Raphael went back to work on the boy’s members. The boy did not try to scratch or push him off, but his legs rose and pressed together, trying to bar him from any access to his manhood.  
Raphael sighed. Such an annoyingly persistent little brat. Thankfully, that problem was easy to fix. And he’d enjoy every moment of it. He kept one hand working at the boy’s cock, the other one reaching forward and easily slipping between the blond’s soft tights, reaching down.  
Alphonse cried out and jerked as he slid two of his fingers back inside him, found that his slave’s body accepted him easily after he’d so thoroughly prepared him. He slid a third finger in without adding any more salve, the way in already thoroughly lubricated, and he began working up a rhythm, the palm of his hand gently grinding the soft sacs above the boy’s entrance.  
His own erection hardened all the more as the boy’s frightened screams turned to hardly contained moans, his body moving in time with the thrust of his fingers.  
But he had not forgotten his punishment for the slave. His other hand still worked at his cock, index finger slowly pressing the beads downwards and in while the rest of his fingers both held him still and massaged his shaft.  
He could hear the boy’s climax in the wavering of his voice, could see the few small drops of his seed that managed to slip upwards and past the beads, his cock swelling but finding no release, Raphael mercilessly pushing yet another one in.  
There were precious few beads left, and soon there were none. This particular toy ended in a golden cap, formed perfectly to fit over the head of a man's member, and as Raphael pressed the last bead carefully in it secured itself over the boy's tip. He could feel the boy straining to release, both in the shuddering of his body and in the way his flesh tightened around his fingers. But there would  
be no release for him.  
He stroked the boy's shaft affectionately as he arched and sobbed and squirmed beneath him, enjoying it all. He knew he was being harsh with his slave, but after gentler punishments had failed to move him, it was for the best. He would let him rest for the remainder of the day, and for much of tomorrow as well. Hopefully after this session he would behave more amiably when he next touched him.  
He waited until Alphonse's body gave up on climax, the small thing shuddering beneath him, trapped in the tortured aftermath of a prevented release. But his suffering was not yet over.  
The man dipped down to lick the boy's member clean, lapping up what precious little white had escaped him, drawing a moan from the boy in the process. But then he shifted, moving off of the boy, standing beside him.  
Through the haze of his agony Alphonse was only dimly aware as he was rolled to his belly. But he became more coherent as he felt his legs being lifted, his bound hands scrabbling weakly for purchase against the ground, finally settling. The man was standing, had lifted his slave's legs to wrap around his waist.  
Alphonse let out a low whimper as he felt the man's shaft probing at his entrance, fingers curling helplessly against the ground. Raphael, meanwhile, tilted his head to the side, admiring the sight of the boy's swollen and gold-capped cock bobbing underneath him. He had a sudden, fleeting thought that it might be cute to put a bell there, so that he jingled when he rode him.  
He began to ease himself in.  
Alphonse whimpered, scrabbling at the floor in an attempt to escape, but all in vain. He let out a miserable croak as he felt the man’s cock slowly sliding into him, reached out and grabbed one of the pillows, burying his face against the soft fabric and muffling his sobs.  
This particular position did not let Raphael watch his slave’s blushed face while he pushed himself into him, wouldn’t allow him to ravish those rosy lips when the boy found himself overwhelmed by the climax. But despite the disadvantages, it had many other points in its favor.  
He could not see the boy’s face, but he could see everything else. He could watch as he eased his cock into the boy’s warm flesh, the blond tightening around him as surely as he’d done with the beads or with his fingers. He could watch as his captive arched and shuddered, his beautiful body contorting ever so prettily as he built up a rhythm. But more importantly, with every slow thrust, he had the boy responding to him like never before.  
The pillow muffled the sounds, but they were most definitely moans of pleasure, the boy’s manhood still firm and swollen, his warm little body trembling in his hold with each movement. He’d found the boy’s weak point, and with that in mind, he kept pressing and teasing right against it.  
Alphonse had gone limp in the warlord’s hold when he had realized he could not escape, simply dangling from his hold, perhaps hoping his weight would serve to pull him out of his captor’s grip. But Raphael was a strong warrior, and Alphonse was a skinny little thing…  
Soon the pleasure gave way to pain, the blond’s voice wavering as his toes curled up, his whole body shivering—and then he was moving, his voice rising clearly around the room as he ditched the pillow and reached upwards, between his legs, sobbing as he sought to pull the damn contraption out of him.  
The boy's movement was immediately obvious to Raphael, the boy's body sagging abruptly as he gave up trying to support himself, his whole thin frame wriggling as he struggled to reach his manhood. But the warlord did not wish for the toy to be removed.  
Quite abruptly he dropped down to his knees, bringing the boy with him, squishing the blonde's shaft between his body and the floor and effectively trapping his slave's arms as well in the process. Alphonse struggled instantly, tried to continue to reach for his sex, but Raphael leaned forward, pressing both hands down against the young male's back, the added weight assuring he could not move his  
limbs beneath him.  
He began to knead and massage the boy's stiff muscles, offering him false comfort even as his hands also pinned him, kept him from seeking relief. And all the while he continued to buck gently in and out, driving the boy's body mad, the blonde crying and squirming as his cock pulsed.  
Raphael felt the boy's release from the way his flesh spasmed, let out a soft groan and released himself at the boy's trouble. But he knew it was no real release for the boy, the beads keeping him plugged, locking him in a tortured limbo. Pained cries gave way to screams, the boy writhing, but then finally it was done, the little thing going limp and sobbing.  
But it was not done for Raphael. He let the boy rest only a few moments before he began to ride him once more, coaxing forth new moans, the little thing bucking his own hips in instinctive time with his rhythm. Such a helpless, pretty thing.  
The little thing would moan and wriggle as he slid in and out of him, stroked his nerves over and over, and then his peak would come and he would scream and cry and fight. He took the boy to climax twice more before he stopped, more out of concern for his slave then full satisfaction on his part. Oh, his body felt well-content at the moment, but it took only a look at the boy to renew his thirst..  
But no, it was enough, the little thing hardly responding to his caresses anymore, limp and panting and crying silently beneath him.  
Raphael withdrew from him slowly, ran his hands lovingly down the inside of the boy's thighs before he slipped a hand under his stomach, turning him to his back and moving to his slave's shaft.  
He removed the beads carefully and slowly, but still his young pet arched and whimpered at it, one leg jerking weakly. Bead after bead came slowly out, all thoroughly coated in white, Raphael quiet enjoying the sight. Finally the last one emerged, and the warlod tipped his head back, jaws parting as he lowered the beads, lips closing around them before he drew them out, cleaning away the white.  
With that finished, he turned the boy carefully to his stomach once more, hand cupping his shaft. He could hear Alphonse's sobs renewing, and knew why, but he ignored them; his purpose now was different. What seed that had failed to escape with the beads remained pooled inside the boy's member, slipped out as he was turned to his belly, Raphael collecting the milky drippings and then licking his hands clean.  
Alphonse felt himself being rolled into a blanket, but he did not fuss or fight it, closed his eyes and tucked his head down as Raphael cradled him close. The man was talking, saying something to someone else, but he didn't care to listen. He was only dimly aware of it when he felt himself being moved, laid back in the cage--and then the blankets were removed from him.  
He whimpered at that, even as he didn't bother to open his eyes, but no probing touches came. The bonds at his wrists and ankles were removed, and then the blanket was tucked around him again, the sound of a cage door being closed. The pillows that had been wet before were not so now; perhaps Raphael had been instructing servants to clean his cage.  
As the boy lay there half-dead Raphael proceeded to dress, stretching leisurely and eyeing the beads he had inserted into his slave's shaft. A bell was a wonderful idea, and his first stop of the day would be to the metal worker. But before that...  
The same servants who had cleaned the cage had brought him his breakfast, fine slices of bread sprinkled with spices and cooked eggs. He did not move to eat them, however, but slipped them inside the boy's cage, debating a moment before adding a wineskin of water (at least that would take the boy longer to make a mess of then a pitcher). He had sworn that the boy would not eat again until he learn  
ed obedience, but ah, well... he was such a precious little thing.  
He smiled, picked up the beads and the key to the boy's cage, and departed to see the metal worker.  
The boy would behave better tomorrow. And the day after that. And so on and so on, until he was fully broken.


	2. Chapter 2

"There is no new news, my lord. The emperor asks nothing other then that we continue to patrol the borders."  
"Very good. Inform the next messenger he may enter."  
Raphael leaned back against the well-cushioned 'throne' upon which he sat, pulling his slave closer as he did so. The young boy moved instinctively forward as his master drew him close, laying his head against the warlord's chest and staring forward with glassy eyes, watching the messenger leave.  
Slowly the master's gaze lowered to his pet, a soft smile touching his face. He had been so concerned when he had first gotten him, had almost wondered if he would never break, but he had. It had been less then a month, and so much had changed.  
The boy did not cringe or cower away as his master examined him, remained docile on his lap as he was looked over. He was dressed in gold silk, chest bare, the fabric falling in thin layers over his legs. A magnificent golden collar was clasped around his throat, and golden rings with small bells attached to them dangled from his ears and nipples and the middle of his belly.  
The piercings were something of a record of progress, marking times in which the boy had misbehaved. His ears had been pierced quickly, and his belly shortly after, and then his chest. Those ones had marked when he had finally begun to obey. But he was still naughty from time to time, as his most recent piercing could testify.  
Raphael slipped a hand gently under the fabric of the boy's skirt, up between his thighs, affectionately fondling the ring and accompanying bell that dangled from the skin at the end of his shaft. The boy let out a soft whimper and squirmed--the piercing was new and still sore--but he did not struggle to escape his master's grip, unhappy mumbles turning to weak gasps as his master's touch grew  
more invasive.  
Another messenger entered the room, gave his report--no movement on the southern front. Raphael gave his answer--only the usual amount of soldiers would be sent--but he was only half-paying attention, enjoying his slave's squirming and the jingling of his bells. His hand left the boy's hardening member to slip a single finger inside him, the slave letting out a sharp moan.  
Raphael raised his head to see the messenger still standing before him, head bowed, looking rather uncomfortable.  
"You may leave."  
The man left, and Raphael returned his attention fully to his slave, stroking his hair even as he continued to stroke inside of him.  
"You've made me hungry, Alphonse. You know what you must do."  
The boy shuddered in his hold, his fingers curling into his master’s clothing, trembling while he was fingered. There was another moan as Raphael probed him deeper, a subtle wiggle of the boy’s hips. For a brief moment, the blond’s gaze met his.  
Alphonse’s once bright silver eyes had turned to a dull frightened grey as his training progressed. But as their eyes locked together, for a brief moment he thought he could see a flash of the old him, hesitation, anger, hatred…  
But it was all gone as soon as he thought he’d spotted it, the blond had looked away and nodded, whimpering once again as he removed his finger to let him act, gave his thigh one last loving caress.  
His bells rung softly as he silently slipped between the lord’s legs, kneeling on the floor in front of him without a single word of protest. Raphael smiled as his slave dutifully undid his pants, freeing his hardening shaft from their constricting prison, the warlord letting out a happy little sigh.  
It was at that point that the boy paused, not moving to service his master, a troubled look appearing on his face as the older man’s manhood appeared before him.  
The ring at the tip of his own sex was a painful reminder of the last time he’d refused the warlord, the man coming with new ways to punish him for every little disobedience daily. He had also learned to keep firm on his threats to starve him, ever since he’d thrown the lord’s food and water all over the floor of his cage, only ever giving the boy water and small portions of broth, the bare minimum to keep his slave from getting sick or collapsing. It was more than enough to make his stomach twist and rumble more and more every day, the boy growing skinnier, spending his days sleeping whenever he was not servicing his master or being punished. He didn’t have enough energy for any more than that.  
You should feel honored, Alphonse  
The man’s words rung clearly in his mind, his smug smirk—the same one he had now, engraved in his memories.  
You have starved for so long…any more than this, and you may grow sick; feed now, and I promise you I’ll have any food you desire brought before you on a silver plate.  
Shortly after his refusal, he had gotten that last ring.  
He did not want to feel any more pain, he wanted to feed, and if he ever thought about the things he would have to do to get that, he would go mad. One hand curled around the base of his master’s sex, the boy’s lips parting as he hastily leaned forward. The warlord’s hand firmly planted against his forehead stopped him, mere inches from the man’s shaft.  
“No, not like that, savor it, like I taught you”  
The boy whimpered, his eyes rising to meet his master’s once again, brimming with tears.  
Raphael watched the boy hesitate again as he relaxed his hold on the boy’s head, moved instead to gently stroke his hair. But that did not last long, the boy finally moving forward again, slowly, the hand curled around his manhood gently stroking him as the blond nuzzled briefly at his warm skin. His lips parted once again, but he did not draw him into his mouth just yet, instead let his tongue reaching out and lapping at the underside of his cock, his breath warm against his skin.  
Raphael let out a soft grunt as the boy worked him, watching mesmerized as his slave’s slick tongue ran up and down his length, traced circles over the head of his manhood before to tease the base, his hands working him as well.  
The first beads of cum dripped down his sex soon enough, and the boy lapped at them hungrily, careful not to let a single drop slip, letting out soft unhappy whimpers as he did so. Raphael forced the boy to tease him that way for a moment long, relaxing and leaning back against his seat while the boy tended to him. Eventually he patted the boy’s head softly, the blond looking up at him for confirmation before he hastily leaned forward.  
He took him into his mouth without hesitating, began eagerly suckling at him, letting out hungry little moans as he did so, moving back and forth, the way he knew would draw the man into a swift release.  
Raphael hissed happily, arching and shifting and shivering upon his throne, fingers curling into the boy’s hair. He let out a happy little groan when the boy drew him entirely inside him, his nose burying itself against the hairs at the base of his cock, the boy’s powerful throat constricting around his sex. He barked at the boy a command to slow down, and when the blond disobeyed, he let out a soft growl and curled his fingers more tightly upon the boy’s golden hair, making him draw back and cry softly out in pain before he obeyed.  
He could feel the strain of the effort in the boy’s every movement from that point on, and he loved it. To have his slave obediently kneeling before him, striving so hard to pleasure, dreaming of the moment his seed would fill him all up…  
More unhappy whimpers and soft trembles on the boy’s part as he was made to slow his caresses, moving his head slowly back and forth, gentling his suckles. Raphael simply laid back and enjoyed it, letting out happy little grunts and pleased murmurs as he continued to stroke the boy’s hair.  
It seemed an eternity has passed before Raphael gently patted his head once again, gave him free reign to make his caresses rougher. The boy obeyed him instantly, again giving the cock in his mouth fast, powerful suckles, drawing him further in with each one.  
It was not long before Raphael finally reached his climax, reaching out and cradling the boy even closer to himself with both hands, curling over him as he buried his whole length into the boy’s mouth. His cum flowed into him, and the boy swallowed it rapidly, not tasting, simply consuming. It took the warlord a few seconds before he had spent himself in Alphonse’s mouth, remained curled over him, his breathing slightly quickened as the boy remained almost entirely still, except for a few last hopeful gulps, some careful licks t o the man’s shaft to make sure nothing had been left behind.  
It was becoming increasingly difficult for Raphael to tell what was the source of his arousal; the boy's physical movements to pleasure his master, or the sight of him doing so. He had enjoyed watching his slave work him nearly as much as he had enjoyed the working, the sweet little thing jingling as he moved to push his lips farther over his shaft, jerked his head back and forth.  
His contented musing was disrupted, however, by the feeling of the boy's mouth tugging at him again, the young thing resuming his suckles, hopeful of more food. But a gentle touch to his head stopped him, the boy slowly drawing away, looking anxiously up at his master.  
"You did well, Alphonse. You were a good boy. And what do good boys get?"  
"F-Food," Alphonse mumbled, eyes dropping to the bag tied to the side of the man's throne. Raphael laughed, petting the blonde gently before reaching into the pouch, drawing something out.  
The boy would get fuller meals after he was fully finished pleasing his master, but for now he would recieve only a single treat. Today's treat was a peach, round and plump with juice, a fruit that Alphonse would once have snubbed now looking irresistable.  
Raphael lifted the fruit up into the air, and the boy shifted forward, reaching for it. A severe look from his master soon halted this behavior, however, the boy hesitating before he let his arms drop, instead moved closer to the warlord and stretched his lithe body upwards, taking the fruit in his mouth.  
His teeth sunk deep into the golden flesh, tearing off a large chunk and swallowing greedily, the juice dribbling down his lips and chin as he moved for more. His stretched position had set his soft cock against his master's erection, and Raphael lazily rubbed himself against the boy as he fed, the young thing hardly paying attention, tearing off piece after piece and moaning in pleasure.  
He had eaten about a third of the soft flesh when his master stopped him, leaning forward to lick his slave's face clean before he met his gaze.  
"If you want the rest, Alphonse, you shall have to sit on my lap."  
The boy instantly sat on the warlord's knee, eyes still fixed on the fruit. Raphael let out a soft tsk.  
"No, not like that, Alphonse."  
He pushed a small vial into the boy's hands; the blonde let out a faint whimper, but moved without hesitation, applying the liquid to both his master's cock and his own entrance without being prompted. Another word from the man had the boy turning away from him, sitting on his lap with his back to the older man's chest, slowly easing himself down on to his owner's arousal.  
When he was fully sheathed within the boy his master let out a soft coo, shifting the fruit back within reach of the boy and allowing him to resume eating. He moved his hips slowly as the boy fed, but only slowly, causing the boy to moan softly but not giving him enough pleasure to interfere with his feeding.  
The peach was gone sooner then the boy had hoped, the young slave staring sadly at the bared core. Raphael discarded the pit at his side, careless, and then moved to begin loving the boy in earnest, one hand wrapping around his belly while the other moved to his member. He began to set a rhythm, slow at first but rapidly growing swifter, tugging at the boy's shaft in time with his bucks.  
His hand was slick around the boy’s manhood, coated with the plum’s juices, ones Alphonse would have gladly licked away if the warlord had not drawn his hand back. But he had, and his slave remained terribly hungry atop his lap, eyes fixed on the discarded remains of the fruit laying by their feet.  
He’d been leaning forward as he ate, to better reach his food. Then Raphael had wrapped one arm around his belly and pulled him back against him. The boy went without resistance, his pale body resting against the warlord’s chest as he was fucked.  
The bells on his body rung rhythmically with each one of the man’s thrusts, his own moans of pleasure slowly rising, the sounds music to the warlord’s ears. The boy simply laid against him, hands tucked down and fingers curled tightly onto the fabric of his master’s pants, letting the man claim and pleasure him as he saw fit. This time there were no screams, no sobs or unhappy whimpers, no words of protest or begging words of mercy. There was only the boy’s pale little body pressed back against his, his back arching, hips bucking rhythmically against his in response to his movements.  
His eyes were fixed forward, looking at nothing, the boy calculating, wondering if more food would be given to him that day as reward, or if he would have to make do until the warlord gave him an apple on the next day in exchange of letting him use his body as he wished.  
But if Raphael noticed the misery in his slave, he did not seem to care. He drew the boy close, pushing his sex into him again and again, faster with each stroke, deeper. His hand clenched down on the boy’s shaft, and he grinned as his slave convulsed around him, arched ever so prettily and took his release upon his master’s hand. But although the boy was done, Raphael was far from sated.  
He pulled his hand away from the boy’s manhood, gave his finger a few swift, greedily licks before his both hands settled around the boy’s waist, curling into his skin.  
Alphonse’s eyes snapped open, the boy snapped back from his thoughts as a sharp cry rose unbidden from him, his body bucking wildly as the man took him all the more aggressively, the sound of his now a constant sound in the background, easily drowned down by the boy’s cries and his master’s blissful grunts.  
They continued that way for a while, the slave bouncing on his master's lap, the jingling of bells mixing with the sounds of pleasure. But soon it was not enough; it was pleasant to take the boy while seated from time to time, a fun and playful thing, but it did not give him the leverage he wanted. He needed more thrust, and their current position would not give it.  
Alphonse felt the older man's arms clasping more tightly around them, and then they were standing, the blonde's feet dangling above the floor--and then they were on the floor, the man pushing him down against the rug, bucking harder and harder.  
Such a violent tempo would once have caused the boy unimaginable agony, but his body had become so accustomed to such abuse that he hardly noticed it anymore; his cries were muffled by his master's hand, and he closed his lips around the man's fingers at the same time Raphael bit into his shoulder.  
The boy knew better then to bite in the same way as his master, but even so, the warlord's actions caused him little pain; it was a show of dominance rather than a meaningful attempt to hurt, the slave submitting as he was ridden, Raphael letting out a delighted snarl against his skin as the boy moaned into his hand.  
The bells jingled faster and faster until both stiffened, the man releasing into his pet at the same time that the boy's cock let out a spurt of white. They remained in that trembling embrace a moment longer before Raphael rolled to his side, moving his hand from Alphonse's mouth to hold him close, nuzzling and licking affectionately at the boy as he panted.  
"You made a mess on the rug, Alphonse."  
"S-Shall I... clean it... m-master?"  
"No, no. You were a good boy. The servants will clean it."  
The warlord finally withdrew himself from his slave, rolling Alphonse in his arms so that the blonde was facing him, kissing his lips gently. The boy answered shyly, eyes closed, thinking of little but food.  
When the man drew back he looked thoughtfully down at his slave, thinking for a moment before he spoke.  
"You have been a very good boy lately. Even if you are still naughty sometimes..."  
His hand lightly carressed the bell dangling from the boy's shaft, Alphonse shuddering softly at the motion.  
"...You are mostly very good. And since you have become such a good pet, it is time I become a good master. Starting today, you shall recieve a full meal a day, and in three days, you shall get two meals a day. Five days after that, it shall be three meals a way."  
* day  
He ran a hand fondly down the boy's chest, stroking his peaks and the bells there before moving to his slave's thin belly.  
"I would begin giving you three meals immediately, but such a quick return to eating daily would sicken you."  
Food. The thought of it was the first happiness the boy had had in many days, and he acted swiftly to guarantee that future, tucking his head against his master's chest and letting out a contented little mumble.  
"T-Thank you, master, thank--"  
The man's hand caught under his chin, and a moment later he was forced to look upwards, the man's narrowed and cold eyes meeting his.  
"But. Remember that I can take away the food again just as swiftly as I give it, should you take it upon yourself to be naughty again."  
"I-I understand, master."  
Raphael's face softened; he let out a contented sigh and tucked the boy's face back against his chest, petting his hair gently.  
"However, if you do behave, Alphonse--if you can go a whole month without misbehaving--then not only will you have the food I promised, but I will start allowing you to be out of your cage when I am not here, so long as you have a servant escort you at all times. Does that sound nice, Alphonse?”  
He felt his pretty little slave shuddering against him, his fingers curling softly into his shirt. The boy nodded, keeping his face pressed against his master’s chest as he did so.  
“Y-yes master” He answered quietly, his voice muffled against Raphael’s body.  
In truth, the boy could not care less about being able to go anywhere by himself. The only place he’d want to go would be home, and the man would never let him. He’d tried so hard to flee, made an attempt at each chance, but the farthest he had ever managed to get had been just past the first ring of surrounding tents.  
It had been about then that the warlord had found his sick fascination with piercing and decorating his body, and with each new wound, the blond had stopped trying to run and struggle. Soon enough he’d wanted nothing more than to be locked in his cell forever.  
But the warlord did not care about the things the boy would like, simply wanted him to answer according to his expectations, and that he did.  
The boy lay still except for his shudders as Raphael kept gently stroking his hair, barely resisting the urge to ask him when he might feed.  
His master let out a contented sigh, hand moving from the boy's hair down to his back, tracing careful fingers along his spine before they slipped into his skirt, Alphonse offering no reaction even as the man's hand cupped his bottom.  
His slave's misery was no secret to him, even though Alphonse had grown much less vocal about it. It concerned him little, however. All that truly mattered was his own pleasure, and he had determined that the truest pleasure came from having a lover. He had once had a lover who was his equal, and it had hurt him, and so now he would have a lover who was his inferior. So far, that arrangement was  
far more pleasing.  
He would do his best to keep his little pet happy, buteven if the boy clung to his misery, he would enjoy him all the same.  
Raphael gave his slave's skin an affectionate squeeze before releasing him, straightening up and closing the clasp of his pants. Alphonse slowly, uncertainly moved to a seated position, looking expactantly up at his master as the man brushed off his clothes.  
"Come, Alphonse. You can have your supper while I plan our trip south--"  
"My lord."  
The warlord turned, frowning as he caught sight of one of his soldiers entering the room, unbidden. The lord raised an eyebrow.  
"What is it? You had best have a good reason to enter unannounced."  
"A... message has arrived for you, my lord."  
"Well then, have it brought before me."  
"...It is a most unusual sort of message, my lord."  
"Bring it before me. Now."  
"As you wish, my lord."  
The man ducked out of the room, and a moment later three men entered. No, four.  
Alphonse had been expecting nothing more than another letter from some other desert bastard, but the sight that appeared before him was a strange one indeed. His eyes returned from the glazed-over state they'd been settling into, the young blonde staring with rapt attention at the newcomers.  
There was the man who had first spoken, and two other soldiers, and... a fourth man. He was much smaller then the others, not much larger then Alphonse himself, golden-haired. He was also naked and smeared liberally with blood.  
Raphael's eyes narrowed, and he let out an angry bark as the two men set their smaller charge down.  
"What is the meaning of this?"  
"We found him strapped to one of our horses, roaming the desert. He had a message attached to him, sire."  
Raphael hesitated only a moment, a troubled look passing over his face, and then he moved forward, picking up a jug of water from beside his throne as he did so. He advanced and sat down near the tortured one's face, carefully lifting his head, pressing the container against his lips.  
"Drink."  
For a moment the man didn't respond, and for a moment Alphonse thought he was dead. But then he shifted, weakly, a blue eye opening--and then he was drinking earnestly, madly, as if it was the first water he had tasted in days. Raphael shifted his gaze up to the soldiers.  
"You, fetch a healer. And you--read me the message."  
He lifted the jug away, and a weak moan from the other man suggested he had not yet been finished drinking. Raphael ran a hand absently through his hair.  
"Any more at once and you'll be sick, shh."  
Alphonse continued watching. There was a strange feeling in his chest, a twisting familiarity to it all.  
Being naked before strangers. Being touched by strangers. Being controlled by strangers.  
There was blood speckling the other man's thighs... he looked away, uncomfortable.  
The first soldier withdrew a scroll, unrolled it and began speaking.  
"You looked so good with yours, how could I help but take one for myself? I'm going to be a bit busy for a while, though, so please look after him until I return. ...Apologies that he's used, I couldn't resist."  
Raphael let out a very colorful curse.  
The boy remained sitting on the carpet, eyes dulling again as he kept his gaze angled downwards. He heard the warlord barking orders at his servants, but paid him no attention until his name was called.  
“Alphonse, follow” He snapped, although his anger was not directed at the boy.  
The blond’s eyes immediately snapped upwards at the mention of his name, and he found himself scrambling to his feet and falling into step after his master as he walked away, jingling softly with each step. His eyes settled briefly on the new comer, watching as two other servants carefully lifted him up onto a sling. But then him and his master were out of the tent, and the other blond was out of sight.  
Alphonse struggled to keep up with the warlord, the man’s pace brisk and the boy still sore from their previous romp, keeping his eyes fixed on Raphael’s feet to avoid any of the servant’s prying gazes. They had seen him struggle, kick and scratch and scream and swear he would always fight, and now they also saw him beg and obey and follow him like a dog.  
Even without seeing where they were going, he knew the way by now. Raphael’s sleeping quarters were not far, the burning sun above them only kissing the boy’s pale skin for a very brief moment before they found themselves under the shade again, Raphael leading the boy back to his room.  
He went to his slave’s golden cage and pried the door open, the blond stepping inside without a word of protest, turning around in time to see Raphael closing the door, the two other servants walking into the room and carrying the newcomer in.  
Alphonse sat down and watched and waited.  
The servants quietly cleaned the boy up and began bandaging his wounds, applying ointments and medicinal herbs onto him with rapid efficiency under Raphael’s watch, the man pacing angrily around the room, muttering things under his breath from time to time. The boy let out several weak cries of pain or unhappy moans, but eventually the healers were finished with him, and under Raphael’s instruction, they moved him into Alphonse’s cage.  
The boy’s eyes widened as they moved towards him, and he hastily scrambled to the side, leaving more than enough space for them to settle him down onto the soft pillows, pulling Alphonse’s furs over him to keep him warm. He could keep them if he wanted; he had lost any use for them long ago either way. With that the medics bowed before Raphael and left, the warlord giving the cage one last glance before moving to leave as well.  
“Master--!” The boy’s voice was shrill and frightened and on the border of breaking, and he twisted around to find his slave clutching at the golden bars of his prison, wide grey eyes fixed on him and on the brim of tears. His lips parted, the blond looking like he wanted to speak, but no words left him, and eventually he let his mouth close and looked away, small body shuddering as he let out small little whimpers.  
Raphael stared at the boy for a moment before letting out a gentle sigh, gesturing for the others to continue without him as he crossed over to the cage. He reached through the bars and closed his arms around his slave, drawing the sobbing little thing close and petting his hair and back reassuringly.  
"I haven't forgotten, Alphonse, it's alright. I'll go get your supper prepared now."  
The boy nodded weakly, going abruptly limp in his master's grasp. Raphael held him only a moment longer before releasing him, giving the young blonde one last pat before moving away. He paused once more at the door, looking back.  
"Be quiet and restful while I'm gone. Our guest needs his rest... as do you."  
The warlord slipped out of the room, and Alphonse slipped back into a seated position, his stomach letting out a tortured little gurgle. He stared hungrily at the entrance for a few minutes before tearing his gaze away, regarding their 'guest.' The other boy was either asleep or unconscious, laying still under the blankets, bruised and bandaged face drawn with pain.  
A long time passed, and still no supper appeared. Alphonse was beginning to believe his ever-so-kind 'master' had entirely forgotten his promise, biting his lip and shuddering with suppressed sobs, when a sudden smell hit his nostrils.  
It was without doubt the most wonderful aroma he had ever smelled. He sat up abruptly, staring wide-eyed at the entrance, heart pounding. A moment later Raphael appeared, carrying a full pie and smiling.  
"Perhaps not the most standard choice for supper, but you deserved a treat."  
Alphonse all but flung himself against the bars, whimpering and crying with want, the sweet smells of apple and cinnamon and fresh crust filling his senses. Raphael chuckled, opened the door and handed the pie to the boy, laughing when he all but buried his face in it.  
Much to Alphonse's dismay, however, his feast was swiftly cut short, his master suddenly grabbing his chin, lifting it up and forcing the boy to look at him. He chortled again at the sight--the boy's tragic expression, the masses of crust and apple smearing his face.  
"Alphonse, when you are finished with your supper, I have a task for you."  
Alphonse blinked, looking down as a small roll of bread and a bowl of water were pressed into his hands.  
"If our visitor asks for it, please share these with him. But don't give him too much all at once. Understand?"  
The boy nodded hastily, eyes straying back to his pie; Raphael rubbed his hair affectionately and locked the cage again. Alphonse was gobbling his food again before the man had even departed the room.  
He ate it all up in seconds, barely stopping by to savor it, stuffing his face and swallowing whole half chewed mouthfuls of it. When there were nothing but crumbs on the plate, he licked it clean, and when that was done, he lapped away at his own fingers and then lips, until there was no trace of the pie left.  
He looked down at his own hands, whimpered softly. He’d eaten the whole thing and he was still so, so hungry. He did favor after favor without complaint, obeyed the man’s every word with the hopes that it would alleviate his pain, and after finally been truly rewarded for his actions, the pain remained. He began fearing it would never go away.  
His eyes turned to the loaf of bread and the glass of water that had been left behind. For a moment, he was tempted to simply wolf down both of them. No one would be the wiser, the other boy would probably not wake for long, and the man would probably excuse him. Right? He was just so hungry…  
His eyes settled on the sleeping stranger, his whole body bruises, skin that once had been pale like his reddened by the sun, and he remembered the blood.  
Alphonse took a few small gulps of water, made sure to leave behind more than half of the contents, set both water and bread aside against the side of his cage, and laid down with his back turned to them and his eyes fixed on the other boy’s sleeping face.  
He wanted to remain awake, in case the stranger awoke, but after his first meal in days and the man’s claiming of his body he was exhausted, his own eyes drifting closed as he drifted into slumber.  
His rest didn’t last long, the boy waking up and blinking as the stranger resting beside him groaned and whimpered in pain. For a moment he remained where he was, gazing at him and wondering what to say.  
Welcome to hell would have been most fitting, but surely not quite reassuring, and the other blond was suffering enough already with all his wounds. He would find out what he had gotten into soon enough, either ways…  
“Hello…” Those were the first words he’d directed to anyone other than Raphael in weeks, his usual vocabulary consisting only of ‘yes master’ or ‘no master’ or ‘please master have mercy I’m so sorry master please—‘  
The stranger cracked a single blue eye, gazed wearily at him and whimpered in fear.  
“…There’s some water left, do you want it? I’ll help you” He murmured quietly, sitting up when the boy licked dried lips and nodded. He reached for the glass, then slipped a hand under the blond’s head and tilted his head forward as he pressed it against his lips, helped him drink it slowly, until with one last gulp the glass lay empty  
“There’s…also some bread, do you want it?” Another nod, and the boy slowly fed it to him as well, pulling piece after piece with his fingers and pressing them against the other boy’s mouth, barely resisting to take a piece for himself. He didn’t, but he did lick away any traces of flour left on his fingers. With that he slipped both the plate and glass out of his cage through the bars, so they could easily be picked up by the servants rather than have his master come back and open the cage. With one last sad little sigh, the boy went back to rest against the pillows.  
“You should rest…”  
The other blonde made no sound, leaving Alphonse to assume he had taken his advice to heart... that or simply fainted. With nothing to say or do the younger boy soon found himself drifting off as well, curling down against the mass of pillows. And yet whenever he drew close to sleep, his thoughts would stir, pulling him awake.  
This stranger... what would change now? Would anything change? The fact that he was in the cage instead of in another tent suggested he was going to be treated neither as a true guest nor as another sort of prisoner. Would he be made to suffer as he had?  
He opened his eyes slightly to regard the new arrival--and was surprised to see him looking back.  
Dull blue eyes caught his own, and the other blonde nodded his head slowly.  
"Thank... you..."  
It was the first time Alphonse had heard such words in a while, and even longer since they had been directed at him. He continued to peer curiously at his cagemate, while the other blonde's eyes shifted slowly to regard their surroundings.  
"A cage... to hold people... is this... hell?"  
Something twisted inside the younger boy's chest, a sudden sharp desire to at once both laugh and be sick. He wondered if he was going mad. He didn't answer.  
The other man's eyes closed again.  
"There is no green here... no green at all..."  
There was a soft, sad chuckle, and the stranger opened his eyes again and turned to regard his companion, tears streaming freely down his cheeks as he laughed, a sad smile twisting his lips.  
“You’re from the greenlands, aren’t you?...I once was too…” He murmured, his gaze shifting downwards, eyes glazing, as if remembering happier times.  
“But now I’m trapped here…a-and I won’t see any green ever again, for as long as I l-live…” The smile was gone, and his grey eyes settled on the other’s blue ones.  
“And…I don’t think you will e-either…” The boy drew in a small shaky breath, his eyes brimming with tears, and for a moment, it looked like there was so much he wanted to tell him, so many things contained inside him that he had to let out. But then he exhaled, and the moment was lost, the boy looking away and burying his face against a pillow, his voice muffled as he spoke.  
“Y-you should r-rest and enjoy it while you c-can, h-he will not touch you while you’re hurt…n-not if he wasn’t the one to h-hurt you” The blond shuddered, drawing another sharp breath and adding as an after thought, his voice almost sounding panicked.  
“A-and eat, e-eat all you can—he will just starve y-you and do as he pleases either way, so e-eat”  
He hadn’t meant to say those things, he’d wanted to speak with the man of better things, of green lands and warm homes and loving families waiting for them, of places free of death or slavery. And at the same time he was so scared. The desert had never reached for them before, but then they had and had dragged him back, had dragged this other boy back, and who could tell if they hadn’t spread their death through the mountains and left nothing behind? He did not want to know it if it had, he wanted his home to be as he remembered, the only light amongst all this darkness.  
The blue eyes widened, perhaps startled by the outburst. But Alphonse did not see.  
He had hidden his face in his hands, the tears streaming freely down, body shuddering uncontrollably. He didn't want to think of it, he didn't want to think of it at all, and yet the images surged through his mind like a storm. The fields and house in which he had grown up destroyed and ruined, the kind faces of their workers and neighbors twisted in death, his parents lying in a pool of blood.  
And--now that he thought of it--it needn't have even happened only just now. What had become of his home when the raiders had first appeared? His family would not have given him up without a struggle, and hadn't he seen Alex being--  
He started as he felt a hand against his arm, looking down. The new slave had reached out to touch him, offered a sad smile.  
"You will see green again."  
Alphonse simply stared in answer. There was a gentleness in the other's expression--a true gentleness, not the mocking, false sort Raphael would sport. But then the moment had passed, the man's hand slipping off his arm and against the pillows, eyes closing as he sank back into unconsciousness.  
Through the midst of his confusion, the younger blonde noticed that he had suddenly stopped crying. He blinked, wiped at his eyes, looked wonderingly at the sleeping young man. He felt somehow... calm.  
...But why? The other couldn't promise him anything. He was just another slave, and his word had no power here.  
Still, the certainity with which he had spoken...  
Alphonse looked at him for a few minutes longer before finally settling down, eyes closing, drifting into a sleep that was mercifully dreamless.  
"Good morning, Alphonse."  
The boy's eyes twisted open; Raphael's voice. He cursed himself, wished he had continued to feign sleep--but then another aroma caught him and he was soon raptly at attention, pressing against the bars and staring in anticipation at his master.  
The warlord laughed, pushing the cage door open and inviting the boy to come closer, a suggestion Alphonse followed only because the pleasant smell of food was coming from somewhere behind the man. Raphael caught him before he could try to look behind him, however, frowned.  
"Now, how does one greet their master, Alphonse?"  
He could smell meat and potatoes. He offered little resistance, climbing up into his master's lap and allowing himself to be kissed, trembling weakly as the embrace went on and on and the odor continued to tease him. But then Raphael was satisfied, lifted out a plate laden with food from behind him, presenting it to the boy.  
There were grilled strips of meat and cooked eggs and roasted potatoes, and fresh bread, and a hefty jug of juice. Alphonse barely bit down a cry of pleasure, instantly threw himself at the food, slowing only when his master chided him not to rush.  
Restraining himself wasn't as impossible as it had been the night prior, however, the boy actually tasting his food, enjoying it greatly. With his slave thus distracted, Raphael turned his attention to his latest captive; Alphonse's eyes strayed up from his meal even as he continued to stuff his face, watching.  
The newcomer shifted slightly, apparently awoken by the noises of the others. When he caught Raphael gazing at him he abruptly attempted to sit, an action that with a cry of pain and the warlord's scolding.  
"Lay still. I have a few questions, and then you may rest again."  
The prisoner turned wary eyes upwards, but said nothing, waiting for the warlord to continue. Raphael shifted slightly, restless.  
"Your name?"  
"...Luke."  
"The one who did this to you. Did he have long, dark hair, tanned skin, blue eyes, slightly taller then myself, prone to smirking?"  
This question was not answered. The boy stiffened ever so slightly, eyes widening, fingers curling into the blankets as a long shudder ran through him.  
"How long were you in the desert?"  
"After... after h-he... he bound me... two days, without food or water. I thought I would surely..."  
"I see. Rest now; I will have food and water brought to you later."  
Two days on one of his horses could amount to the man being anywhere within a great range of places, and he knew without asking that requesting the boy identify his surroundings would be useless. There was no point in sending out scouts, then... he would simply have to wait.  
Luke closed his eyes again, going limp once more as the warlord paced back towards his younger slave. It was a frustrating thing, but there was little he could do but go on as planned. If and when Lucian appeared, he would settle the matter then.  
Alphonse had finished eating now, was contently licking the leftovers off plate and fingers--but he went still as his master's shadow fell over him.  
Raphael wasn't looking at him, was rather regarding a sundial set deeper within the room, but he returned his attention to the boy soon enough.  
"Alphonse. You have likely heard a little of a trip the camp will be undertaking soon."  
He sat, motioned for the boy to sit on his lap, and continued.  
"Within the center of the desert, where the Entez and Egris rivers join, lies a country named Amakiz. A man named Asmodeus rules there, and he offers us crops and animals and slaves in exchange for our protection.  
The only threats to his power lay to the south. There are the Mastemians of the southwest, a savage and vicious people, and there are the pirates of the Dragon Tail river to the southeast. Both groups are most active in the times when the seasons are changing, conducting raids upon the fringes of Asmodeu's territory.  
Accordingly, my men travel with the seasons, moving to patrol the lands when these threats grow strongest. In two weeks, we will depart for the southwest, and we will not return until several months have passed."  
The boy didn't appear to be listening, and Raphael didn't appear to notice, the man continuing.  
"In future, when you are better trained, I may leave you here without me when I go on these patrols. For the time being, however, you shall be coming with me. And that means you shall be a part of the politics of our treaty with the emperor."  
Now Alphonse looked up, not understand. Raphael smiled.  
"Ensuring our alliance and preparing for the journey means that there will be many meetings with many minor lords and kings. These meetings are long and tedious affairs, and as such, it may please me to carress and stroke you for amusement throughout them. However, while slaves are tolerated at such meetings, messes are not."  
Alphonse's stomach twisted; he looked down to see Raphael retrieving something horribly familiar from his pocket, a bottle of salve and a small chain of beads with a golden cap. There was a bell attached to the end, now.  
"Since I cannot trust you to restrain yourself, you shall have to wear this. And as you will be removing and inserting it frequently throughout the course of our travels, I should like for you to learn how to place it on yourself."  
The warlord pressed the items into the boy's hands. For a moment Alphonse did not move, simply trembling, but the slow anger creeping across his master's face finally prompted him to obedience.  
He bit his lip and rubbed the salve across the beads, finally placing the first to the tip of his shaft, shuddering as he began pressing it in. To his surprise, however, Raphael stopped him, one hand wrapping around his shoulders at the same time the other pushed him backwards.  
"No, Alphonse. It is easier to insert while lying down."  
The boy found himself on his back against the pillows, but before he could resume his miserable work, he felt the warlord's hand closing over his own. A furious blush crept across his face as he felt the man wrapping his fingers around his own shaft, the boy hoping beyond anything else that the other slave was not watching.  
"It is also easier to insert when you are erect. Stroke yourself several times, firmly, and then insert it when you are hard."  
The boy hesitated briefly, his body trembling softly and a small whimper escaped him. However, his fear of the warlord had grown far bigger than his shame over time, and soon enough his trembling hand began stroking his own sex, Raphael letting out a pleased murmur.  
But even then, his shame was not forgotten, and even as he kept stroking himself his eyes drifted towards the cage. There was no movement coming from it, and he could not see the other blond, draped under the furs as he was, and still.  
He bit down his lip, keeping quiet any soft moans that might try to escape him, and then began twisting, trying to give the cage his back, keep his shameful actions hidden.  
His master noticed his attempts and the reasons behind them, and he did not approve. A firm push of the warlord’s hand against his shoulder was enough to right his position and keep him pinned against the sheets and cushions.  
"You should not be ashamed to be seen pleasing your master, Alphonse" The man said softly, not a trace of anger in his voice, but Alphonse took the hint, let out a soft whimper and did not try shifting any more.  
The boy stroked his own length as in the same way he often did with his master’s fingers tracing sensually over his own skin, making the boy blush further and bite at his bottom lip even harder. Even if he could not move to hide, he could at least keep himself quiet.  
But even then, a few quiet whimpers managed to escape him as the older man loomed over him, his eyes fixed on his, digging into him for a brief moment, before they traced their way downwards, ravaging him with a single look as they went. He watched the boy’s pale skin flush, his ribs dancing under his soft skin as he arched and shivered. And then finally they reached the spot between his legs, and he licked his lips as he watched mesmerized the way those skillful fingers ran and stroked the boy’s delicious little cock.  
Alphonse had been concentrating on keeping his voice contained inside himself even as his manhood began hardening in his own fingers, but he didn’t quiet manage to choke down the startled cry as Raphael’s calloused hands wrapped around him, engulfing the parts of his sex that didn’t quite fit in his own hands.  
The man leaned in over him, his shadow enclosing the small boy as he murmured into his ear.  
"Good, good. But be firmer..."  
His hand stroked the boy roughly in example, the young blonde jerking, tears all but leaping to his eyes at the sudden burst of pleasure. The man's hand moved around his own, guiding, showing when to squeeze, when to stroke, how swift and hard to set the rhythm. It was a faster pace then Alphonse would have liked, but just the tempo his master preferred, the boy's manhood swiftly swelling as soft  
and calloused fingers danced side-by-side up and down the tender skin.  
Still despite the increase in pleasure Alphonse remained largely silent, squirming fitfully and drawing shaky breath on occassion but for the most part being quiet. Raphael would give him gentle praises for this, but aside from that there was no sound save their rapid breathing, Alphonse's pleasure heightening at the touch and Raphael's at the sight.  
Finally the boy sported a full erection, the young thing quickly removing his hands and blushing once it was finished. Much to his relief, Raphael removed his hand as well--  
But then suddenly the man was atop him, pressing him down with his weight, arms wrapped around him and bulge pressed to arousal as the warlord ravaged his lips.  
Alphonse went rigid as the man bucked his hips softly against him, eyes twitching to the cage; but Raphael regained control of himself swiftly, sitting up and sighing.  
"Such a teasing little thing... but the lesson I must teach you does not involve my own pleasure, I'm afraid. Insert the beads, and then I will show you briefly what I expect of you during meetings."  
The boy was left panting softly beneath his master, his cheeks flushed as he gazed away for a moment. But soon enough he was moving, not wanting to awake the ire of his master. He reached for the golden contraption with trembling fingers, the thing resting cold and slick against his soft belly.  
He picked it up, and without watching aligned it slowly with the slit of his cock, trembling and whimpering in fear before he slowly began pushing it in.  
He faltered and trembled as each bead went in, his whole body tensing, back arching slightly as he worked, wincing every now and then when he was not careful enough. His body knew what awaited him, and it hated it, rejected the whole process.   
But eventually it was all done, the thing sunk inside his manhood all the way to the golden cap that hugged itself to the skin of his sex, cold and unrelenting. And he knew this wasn’t even the worst part.  
His hands fell away from his sex and to the floor, the bells on his cock jingling melodiously at the movement, joined by the ones on the boy’s chest as it rose and fell with his gasps for breath.  
But above everything, Raphael was surprised to hear the boy’s voice rising, a soft murmur barely above a whisper.  
“P-please don’t h-hurt me master…I-I’ll be g-good, I p-promise” The boy whimpered looking pleadingly up at him.  
Some amount of uncomfortable whimpering from the boy had been expected, but a plea for mercy had not been. For a minute he simply peered down at his slave, not understanding--but then he recalled the last time he had used this particular toy on him.  
"Ah, you poor creature. Come here."  
Another wretched whimper from the blonde, but he crawled forward, burying his head against his master's chest. Raphael stroked his hair soothingly.  
"It is true that the last time I used this toy it was meant to punish, because you had been disobedient to me. But I have no intention to drive you to release while you wear it now, because I know it hurts, and such hurt is only for those who are naughty. But you are a good boy, aren't you?"  
The boy nodded miserably against his skin, and Raphael patted his back affectionately.  
"It is only meant to serve in case of an accident, nothing more. I will not intentionally bring you to release. Now come, turn around so that we may begin our practice."  
Alphonse shifted slowly on his master's lap, facing the cage even as his eyes closed. The tears ran freely down his face and his body shuddered with a fear he could not suppress, but he remained silent. His master licked gently at his skin before he reached into the boy's skirt, hand closing gently about the boy's cock, beginning to squeeze.  
The man touched and played with his slave as he pleased, all the while staying quite still himself, eyes fixed solemnly forward. He stroked and gripped at the boy's shaft, traced his hand across the bell sunk into his skin, massaged and pulled at his sacks and slipped one invasive finger after another into his pet's body. But despite the hardness the boy could feel poking into him from his  
master's clothing, the warlord's touches remained gentle, controlled, slowing down or ceasing entirely whenever the boy's tremors grew too great or his breathing too ragged.  
The terrible fear overwhelming the boy slowly, ever so slowly began to abate as the man kept to his word; his touches kept his slave aroused, but he did not push him far beyond that. No horrible feeling seared through him, no torture of blocked release, and in time he simply slumped tiredly back against his master, only whimpering weakly now and then, but at last willing to believe that he would  
not be made to suffer.  
Raphael nuzzled gently at his slave's flushed face, smiling as he ran careful fingers down the boy's member.  
"You did well, Alphonse, very well indeed. I will have a special treat prepared for you tonight; what would you like?"  
For a moment the boy only shivered against his master, still suppressing soft cries as Raphael’s war hardened fingers stroked his sensitive sex, tracing their way from the tip to the base.  
What would he like? He had told the man so many times already, when he had first dragged him to this hellhole.  
He would like to go back home, to leave this damned place behind, to never have to see or hear to touch this disgusting man ever again. He shuddered more sharply as he remembered the pain those words had brought him. His eyes remained closed.  
“T-thank you master, I…I d-don’t need a reward, only…a m-meal…and some rest—if it pleases you master” He said quietly, carefully picking his words, submissive, carefully poking around the edges with his words in an attempt to get a small taste of what he wanted.  
The slave's carefulness was not in vain; Raphael nodded, nudging lovingly at the boy's head with his own as he did so.  
"It will be done. I have preperations to attend to; you may rest while I am away, and when I return in the evening I will have a meal prepared for you."  
The man's hand slipped forward, pressing against the boy's pouches with his palm, pressing and rubbing as his pet squirmed against him. But this was his last teasing caress, and he drew his arm back, moving instead to deftly push open the folds of the boy's skirt, revealing his swollen sex.  
"You may remove the beads now."  
The boy trembled once but otherwise immediately moved to the task; taking the beads out was not pleasant, but he wanted it done with, to get the stupid things far away before his master could change his mind on how roughly to touch him. His nails hooked under the golden cap, pulling it up--and then he cried out, jerking at the pain. He had forgotten how much it...  
"Shh, move more slowly and it will be alright." Raphael murmured, picking up the previously forgotten jar of salve, working some patiently into the boy's slit as Alphonse shuddered and held the cap up. And then he was slowly drawing the beads away once again, barely biting back cries, the warlord rubbing his back comfortingly as he worked.  
"What... w-what--what are you DOING to him?!"  
Alphonse instantly went rigid, the beads slipping from suddenly limp fingers; and then he hid his face in his hands in shame, a deep and profound flush creeping across his skin. Raphael, however, saw nothing to be ashamed of, raising his eyes lazily from his slave's dick to meet the horrified gaze of his newest captive.  
"I am using my slave as best pleases me. Do you wish to tell me this is not my right?"  
"You have no such right! Release him, you vile monster!"  
"Such words... but you will learn your place soon enough. It would do me no good to punish you in your current state."  
The warlord's fingers curled lazily around the beads dangling from the boy's shaft, and he finished what the whimpering slave had started, carefully pulling out the last few as Alphonse burst into sobs. There was not so much white as there would have been if the boy had tried to release, but there was enough, and he lapped them swiftly clean before setting them aside and patting the boy's   
shoulders.  
"Go now, and rest well."  
But the boy did not move as he was bidden, remained sitting on his master’s lap, trembling and whimpering softly, still hiding his face against his own hands. If the boy had heard him or even noticed the man’s soft patting of his shoulders, he seemed to be ignoring him. That would not do at all.  
“Alphonse…” His voice became serious, and he reached out to firmly squeeze the bond’s shoulder. The blond did react at that, tensing up and going quiet only for a second, before he twisted around and threw himself against Raphael’s chest, the warlord’s eyes widening in surprise.  
The small little thing was pressed up against him, still in his lap, white fingers curled up tightly as he buried his face against Raphael’s chest, his sobs muffled by the warlord’s clothing, trembling sharply in the older man’s hold.  
“N-no, no please I-I…I c-changed my mind, I want t-to go with you, p-please master” He croaked very softly, his voice barely above a whisper, so that only Raphael could hear him.  
He could not stay, he couldn’t. Not with the other’s eyes fixed on him, with the other boy knowing what he’d become, seeing the things he’d seen, he could not bear to be trapped there with him—and worst. Raphael had promised to let him rest during the evening while he worked—but then he would be back, and he would finish what he had started right where the other boy could see. He’d known it would inevitably happen, and yet he dreaded the moment, his whole body burning with the desire to avoid it for as long as he could.  
He could not stop the warlord from claiming him, that much he knew; the man had raped him every single day without fail, no matter how much he struggled, sobbed, begged or cajoled. But he could change the time and place, make the warlord take him along, so that he would at least claim him on the throne room’s tent, on the bathroom, outside under the blazing sun, anywhere but before the other blond’s horrified eyes.  
The abrupt change in his slave's behavior both startled and pleased Raphael, but a moment later some of the joy turned to irritation, the man stroking his pet's back firmly even as he frowned.  
"I am pleased that you wish to accompany your master, Alphonse, but the timing of your choice is most poor. We only just finished removing the beads, but now you shall have to--"  
That was when the warlord paused, the reactive euphoria quickly dying under cold logic. It was not like his young captive to throw himself at him so, or plead to be at his side. It was not the sort of change that would occur so instantly, either. And he recalled all too well how the boy had gone red with shame, tried to hide his face just moments before.  
A moment later Alphonse let out a startled gasp as the older man abruptly shoved him down, pinning his slave's wrists back against the floor and leering over him, eyes narrowed.  
"Ah, but that is because you do not truly wish to accompany me, is it not? It is simply a matter of you being ashamed."  
"Don't touch him! Leave him be, you damnable--"  
The other blonde's voice, a reminder of what he had been trying so desperately to avoid; Alphonse squeezed his eyes shut, the tears beginning again as his master's hissing voice slowly grew into a roar.  
"Have I not already touched and invaded every part of your scrawny little body?! Have I not already played with you in all the ways I wished, violated you as I would, made you ooze and cry and beg like the pathetic fragile thing you are?! There is nothing left to be ashamed of! The time for shame is over, and the time to please your master in earnest has begun!"  
Such an insolent little creature had he purchased! He had worked and trained him for so long and even now he fought his fate, struggled to pretend he was something other than a bitch to be ridden as his master pleased. Raphael made a mental note to never again let compliance confuse itself with true obedience in his mind; even if the little thing would serve him out of fear, it was not genuine  
loyalty, and it was not what he wanted. If he had to break the boy a dozen times over to change him into the loving, dependent toy he desired, then so be it.  
His newest captive was still putting up an endless fuss, telling him to stop, to leave the boy alone. Raphael ignored all of it, still snarling down at his shaking captive, deciding exactly how he would go about breaking him; perhaps simply take him without the salve, rough enough to leave him sore, and not fetch him the extra meal the boy had requested.  
But that was when a far sweeter thought occured to him.  
His eyes widened briefly, and then he smiled, slowly loosening his grip on the boy's wrists and sitting lazily back.  
"Enough. As you have insisted so ferociously, I have decided I will not touch the boy."  
Alphonse could hardly believe the words; had the stranger's fervored begging done what a month of his own pleading could not? But no, the truth of the warlord's plan became clear all too soon, hope dying before it could truly start.  
Raphael lay back, spreading his legs, looking down at his shivering slave and letting out a lazy purr.  
"He will, however, touch me. Come, boy, and please your master. Show your new companion what you have learned."  
The misery in the boy’s face seemed to grow by the second. Raphael simply laid back, watching his wretched captive while his manhood remained hard between his legs from their previous foreplay.  
The most wretched sob escaped Alphonse, ringing clear even with the other blond’s loud protests. He moved then, but not to crawl onto Raphael’s lap, instead threw himself down against the floor, bowing ever so submissively even as he shook violently, his sobs rising over Luke’s voice.  
“P-please, I-I’ve been so good—I’ll a-always be g-good, I promise, I-I’ll do anything you w-want master, a-anything, just…j-just not h-here, n-not now, t-that’s all I ask!” He cried keeping his forehead pressed against the floor while he shuddered.  
Raphael’s response to the boy’s pathetic pleas was a comment on how he could not listen to his bells chiming over his new companion’s screams, and how perhaps giving him a few more might fix that.  
Another broken sob, one more shudder, and Alphonse slowly rose onto his knees, crawled the small distance between him and his master, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor at all times.  
All too soon he was sat between the warlord’s legs, trembling softly as he stared with dull eyes.  
“Will you be good now, Alphonse?”  
“Yes master…”  
The boy moved, only hesitating briefly one last time before his hands worked on the clasp of his master’s pants, revealing the warlord straining erection.  
“H-how….how may I service you, m-master?” His voice was nothing bit a quiet little murmur, his eyes fixed dully on the cock in front of him. Raphael leaned forward, gave the blonde’s cheek a playful lick, lapping away some of his tears.  
“You may start with your hands, boy”  
“Y-yes master…”  
With that, the boy’s trembling hands reached forward, his fingers wrapping around Raphael’s manhood hesitantly at first, but then more firmly. This was far from the first time the boy had been forced to pleasure his master in this way, and his stomach twisted in disgust at the realization that his body had memorized the exact way the man preferred to be pleasured.  
It felt lovely, as it always did. To imagine the boy had been a virgin a scarce month past... he knew it was truth, had been the very one to first taste his flesh, and yet he still had difficulty believing it. He let out a soft groan and arched slowly into his pet's caresses, the boy jerking and squeezing harshly at his shaft with one hand while the other ran gentle fingers across his tip.  
And yet, while the pleasure was certainly there...  
Raphael's content smile slowly faded into a frown, the priest's shrieks of anger pulsing in his ears, his slave's weak sobs and shuddering hands making his work not quite as potent as it could have been.  
By the gods, it was no wonder Lucian had dropped the other blonde off to him. Alphonse was quite the good servant, and he was still so frustrating to deal with at times. He could hardly imagine how the older blonde must have screamed and shrilled when he'd been ridden. Such noise would have been enough to end any arousal on his part, he imagined.  
"...Alphonse. Enough."  
The boy stopped, but his shudders increased. Stopping didn't mean it was over, stopping meant it was about to get worse--  
That was when Raphael suddenly pulled him forward, hugging the smaller boy close against him, gently stroking his back. Alphonse didn't understand, and having the man's erection digging into his belly was uncomfortable, but if nothing else it was less shameful then what had been before. He hid his face against his master's shoulder, muffling his sobs there as the man sighed.  
And then--to the boy's great startlement--he found himself lifted, the man picking him up and moving away from the cage, towards a corridor in the back of the room that would take them to the baths. Luke's cries receded into a muffled whine behind them as the distance increased, layers of silk doorways muting the sound, and then Alphonse felt himself set down on soft towels.  
He blinked through teary eyes up at his master, confused, only to find out that his suspicions were correct. Shortly after putting the boy down, Raphael had knelt before him, his shaft still poking hard through the fabric of his pants.  
“Turn around and offer yourself to your master, Alphonse” His master ordered calmly, and with a quiet little whimper and a fearful shudder the boy moved to obey. His trembling hands moved to his hips, hooked around the only piece of clothing he wore and slipped it off, leaving him completely naked before the older man, his green eyes roaming quietly over him.  
The boy turned around then, propped himself up on hands and knees, leaving his legs spread, letting himself more than open to any probing touches his master might want to place upon his entrance and manhood.  
“P-please…please u-use me as you s-see fit, m-master” His stomach churned upon speaking the words Raphael had taught him to say every time he was ordered that particular command.  
But it was nothing new, nothing that hadn’t been done to him already, nothing the other boy would see. He thought he could still hear him screaming from the bedroom.  
He felt his master moving behind him, felt the warm skin of his tights rubbing against his. And then let out a startled squeak as one of his master’s hands curled into his hair, pushed him firmly downwards, pressing his face against the soft towels below them, his other hand settling on his hips and keeping that part of him upwards, warm fingers curling into his soft flesh.  
The boy’s eyes widened, fingers curling into the fabric below as he shuddered in Raphael’s hold, felt the older man’s cock nuzzling at his entrance. With the previous foreplay the man had used salve on his fingers, but he had never intended to use his manhood, not at that moment at least, and he let out a frightened whimper at the thought. A moment later his fears were confirmed.  
“Claiming you before your new companion was far more troublesome than it was worth it, but don’t be mistaken, your actions will not go unpunished, and you shall feel just how…passionate my anger can be” But even as he said those words, there was no anger in the warlord’s voice, it was rather cold instead.  
There was no choking down the sharp cry of pain that left the boy as Raphael first shoved himself inside him, his roughness hurting him despite how many times his body had been used and claimed. But there was no mercy from the warlord even as he felt the boy tensing all around him, his hand keeping the boy’s head pinned down as he moved roughly within him again and again, the boy trying his best to keep down his cries and pained sobs.  
It was over rather quickly, in Raphael’s opinion, but that was to be expected. He poured the full weight of his passion upon the blond’s quivering flesh, his body tight and warm around him, his piteous cries of distress, sweet and lovely and arousing in sharp contrast to the other boy’s annoying squawks.  
He arched over his slave’s body, pouring his seed into him while the boy merely moaned and trembled, voice muffled by how he’d taken to biting into the fabric beneath him. Alphonse began visibly relaxing once his master had come inside him, perhaps thinking his punishment was over. Poor fool.  
He slammed himself harshly into him again and again as soon as the last tremors of his release had faded, his body still more than hungry for the flesh of his precious little bed slave, the boy’s cries resuming, his body instinctively trying to jerk away from the pain, but he easily kept him pinned.  
And then even with the pain Alphonse’s body finally seemed to understand there was no escaping, the boy’s boy relaxing slightly, eyes closed shut as he took his punishment. Raphael was happy to take advantage of that, letting his hand uncurl from his pale hair to settle on the boy’s other hip, bracing him so he could go deeper, faster and rougher.  
He came inside him again, then against his thighs, over his arched back, and inside him once again before he was finally sated, a few thin drops of red dribbling down between the boy’s thighs by the time he was done with him to mix in with the white of his seed. In turn, Alphonse had not released even once.  
Alphonse continued to sob even as his master finally pulled away, his knees trembling with the effort to hold his designated position when Raphael’s hands abandoned his hips.  
A normal round with the boy left Raphael still very much wanting, but he found himself sated now. He sank down on to the soft rugs covering the floor, his own breathing coming in harsh pants, tensed muscles slowly relaxing.  
It took him a moment to notice the boy was still on his knees. It took him another to notice the blood. A soft growl escaped him then, Alphonse shuddering all the worse at the sound--and then quite abruptly the warlord had seized him, pulling him closer and down, laying him with comparative gentleness on his side beside him and drawing one of the furs lying about over top of him.  
He had thought that punishing the boy would sate him--and, indeed, in a basal way it had--but at the same time it had left him more frustrated then pleased. Was this what he had thrown away a year's worth of gold upon? To have a quivering, frightened prisoner who couldn't be ridden painlessly without preperation? He could have that with any miserable bastard in the villages he raided, and without  
having to empty his pockets in the process. No, he hadn't bought the boy for that.  
He drew his slave in close, turning the young blonde so that his face was hidden against his chest, carefully stroking his back, working at the knotted muscles. Alphonse was still trying to bite back sobs, shivering weakly as only the occasional choked whimper broke from him. Raphael grunted.  
"You may weep. I will not punish you for it."  
The slender little blonde broke at that, crumpling in his arms, tension exchanged for a helpless limpness as he sobbed without pause against his captor's skin. For a long while Raphael continued to hold him in that way, petting softly at his hair and shoulders, but then he suddenly settled the boy down, rising to his feet, dressing, and departing.  
With no one to hide against Alphonse resigned himself to hiding against the pillows scattered about, seizing the closest one and curling around it, squishing his face into the soft fabric as the tears continued to pour down his cheeks. For the briefest moment, he tried to believe in a lie--to pretend that he was far away, that he was at home, that at any moment his brother and parents would appear to comfort him--but trying to imagine their faces was too jarring in the face of his current suffering, and he soon let the dream depart, sinking his teeth wretchedly into the pillow to muffle down a scream.  
The sound of rustling fabric signaled his captor's return, but he did his best to ignore it--until he felt the blanket pulled down, a hand sliding between his legs. He did not muffle that scream, jerked his head up in horror at the intrusion, heart hammering in his chest-- His master's hand forced his head back down, but there was no forceful intrusion, no callous handling of his body. Instead something cool and wet was being rubbed into his skin, the boy whimpering, wondering if his torture would begin anew. But then Raphael was done, the blanket pulled back over him, the man stroking his face.  
"The salve will speed the healing."  
Ah, so it hadn't been...  
Alphonse relaxed again--slightly--and then the warlord was lying beside him, wrapping his arms around him as he lay his head against the pillow, sighing. For a minute captor and captive were silent, but then suddenly Raphael drew abruptly close, burying his face against his slave's shoulder.  
"...Believe or deny as you will, Alphonse, but I did not buy you with the intent to make you suffer. The sooner you accept your fate, the sooner you can be happy again. Serve me well and serve me truly, and I will ensure you are free again when I die."  
And at those words the boy in his arms went completely still, his body tensed in his master’s hold for a long moment before he planted his hands firmly on Raphael’s chest and forcefully pushed himself away, stared at his master with wide, disbelieving eyes, his fingers curling tightly on the fabric of the warlord’s clothes.  
“S-serve you…well and…a-and truly? S-serve you…”  
The boy shuddered sharply, tears flowing anew as his eyes widened further, anger, pain, hatred and desperation surging through his face at once.  
“H-have I not obeyed your every whim—every single command you’ve given me on the past w-weeks? I-I hold still so you can p-pierce and cut my flesh, I s-sit and hold still and quiet so you can touch and d-dirty me while e-everyone watches—I spent a whole week drinking nothing b-but your s-seed and not once b-begging for food at your command! I-I would have t-touched you in f-front of that stupid, s-stupid boy if you h-hadn’t stopped me, a-and I held s-still and silent while y-you fucked me bloody! I-it h-hurt so m-much and…a-and I d-didn’t even cry a-and….”  
Another shudder, the boy’s breathing quickening as he screamed the next few words.  
“And I have yet to serve you w-well and tru-?!” His voice abruptly cut off, his eyes widening as he drew one ragged gasp of breath after the other, his hands leaving his master’s chest to clutch at his own while he tensed and gasped and coughed.  
And then he slowly relaxed, voice flowing again with his sobs as he crumpled down against the soft sheets below him, his back turned away from Raphael.  
“I-I…I’m sorry master….I’ll try to s-serve you w-well and…truly, I’ll be so good m-master…a-and if you ever find me w-worthy of reward, t-then please consider…d-don’t die and leave me behind, p-please, just slit my t-throat and p-put me to rest”  
Very reluctantly the boy responded with a soft ‘yes master’ as the man left him, more out of habit than anything else. He waited until his footsteps had disappeared, until the sound of servants bustling around had disappeared, until he was alone. For the first time, he realized the other boy had stopped his screaming as well. He rose to his hands an knees with effort, only because standing would have been more troublesome, and then crawled towards the great basin in the room.  
He had been left alone and unsupervised, with no cage around him to keep him locked up and no shackles around his ankles or wrists. If the man had done this a month before, he would not have thought it twice to run for it. But he knew better now.  
The water was cool as he slowly lowered himself into it, and with a soft whimper, he began rubbing the man’s seed off his skin, helping himself with the soaps and lotions lined along the basin’s edges, and only stopping when he had finally certain he’d rubbed the warlord’s stench off his body. Even if he would be soiled a new shortly, without a doubt.  
He would have rested inside the water, but it had been dirtied, and as such with another quiet whimper he lifted himself up and out, reaching out for a towel to dry himself and then collapsing against the carpets that lined the floor rather than crawling back into the sheets the warlord had left for him. The heat of the sun still reached him through the tent’s fabric and it was enough to warm him, and there was not an inch of his body that hadn’t been shown and paraded around entirely bare to every single pair of eyes in the camp. All he had left was to wait for the master to come back for him, drag him back into the cage, perhaps torture him some more in front of the new boy, and let him go without food for a few days to punish him some more.  
But, strangely enough, the return to his cage never came.  
In time he had drifted off into uneasy sleep, expecting at any moment to be awoken by his master, ushered back into his gilded prison--but it was to his great surprise that, instead, he opened his eyes to find morning sunlight and a plate of breakfast set before him, Raphael nowhere in sight. He took a little food and lapsed promptly back into sleep again, hoping for nothing more than a pleasant  
dream.  
he second day was much the same, and the third as well. Food set before him, and no one to trouble him--although Raphael did reappear on the last day; but he only rubbed some more salve into the wincing boy's skin before he departed again.  
Being left on his own was a very strange experience for Alphonse, after so many days spent as a caged pet. Being well fed was strange, too. He regretted that he was in too much pain to much enjoy either; his body remained horribly sore from the older man's abuses, and he moved little beyond crawling into the tub to wash and out again.  
Finally on the forth day, his body had healed enough for his pain to fade away into some mild discomfort. On that very same day, however, his master returned for him, gazing down at him with a blank expression.  
“Your training is due Alphonse, are you ready to behave?” The boy stared dully up at him, then bowed before him.  
“Yes, master…”  
The training, the beads, the shameful acts all began anew then. Raphael took him back to the bedroom, the other blond shrilling once more, but this time the warlord was more than pleased to find his slave completely unresisting.  
He still winced at the other’s boy’s voice, still grimaced and sobbed as Raphael touched and kissed and claimed him right before the other, but this time he did not attempt to hide what he was from the other blond, let his master do as he wished with him without the smallest sound of protest, sucked his cock nice and hard while the other slave sobbed pleas for them to stop, turned away from the things they did, and then climbed right back into the cage without a peep when ordered to. Raphael grinned as he drifted off to sleep that night. Ah yes, his precious slave was a fast learner, and perhaps now that he had finally let go of those last threads of shame, he could be properly trained to love and cherish his master.  
The boy’s training for their meetings continued—and when the other blond was well enough, his very own training began. Raphael had no interest on fucking the other boy—Luke, as he had said his name was. He had pale skin and light hair and eyes just like his Alphonse, as they seemed to come from the same lands, and although he was beautiful in his own way, they were very different. The other boy was older, larger in built, and his cries of distress annoyed him, unlike Alphonse’s melodious cries, which delighted him. But although he had no plans to use this second slave to warm his bed, he could at least be useful to keep Alphonse company—help on his preparation perhaps, and so Luke’s very own training began, his body starved and lashed every time he refused to cooperate, every time he refused to lay hands on the smaller boy.  
Ever since he’d returned, the boy had not directed a single word to him, only acknowledged him upon the other man’s commands, and kept his back turned on him any other time. Until one day as the warlord ordered his servants to take him out and lash at him under the blazing sun, the boy shifted uneasily on his lap, spoke for the first time without being addressed.  
“Master….if I may speak my mind…” Raphael arched an eyebrow, but allowed it, gently stroking the boy’s belly as he spoke.  
“Luke is too stupid, I don’t want him touching me, he might...hurt me…and I have gotten so good at putting the beads on and off, we don’t need him master, and besides…” The boy shifted in his hold, turning towards him, gazing up at his master while one of his hands settled atop the one caressing his belly, slowly tugged it downwards.  
“Do you really want another man touching me, master?” The warlord grinned at his slave’s words, calling for his servants to throw Luke back into the cage as he leaned down and ravaged the boy’s lips, hand slipping between his legs. Luke could do nothing but look away, remaining quiet this time as the man claimed the smaller boy just a few feet away from him. When everything was done and Alphonse was put back in the cage, he still did not say a word to him.  
That was the last time the warlord ever tried to make Luke touch Alphonse, but he had new uses for him. Whenever he decided Alphonse deserved a reward, he would shackle Luke’s feet together and then shackled one of Alphonse’s wrists with a long golden chain to one of his. With his feet thus shacked, Luke could only walk very slowly, and being the largest of the two, Alphonse could not drag his body around and run either. With that, he left Alphonse roam relatively freely around the camp, although the little blond barely ever went anywhere—mostly his trips took him to the bathroom, where he would furiously scrub at his skin.  
And then finally the day of their trip arrived, several servants coming into the room to wrap Alphonse up in ornate silks to protect him from the sun, while he was given a servant’s garb. Raphael wanted very much to ride with the boy on his lap, but the trip was hard and it would tire out his stallion, so instead he was put on a smaller, cream-colored mare while Luke followed on a mule.  
The full length of the trip took them three weeks to complete, but along the way they stopped at several smaller tribes, collecting tributes and sitting down on meetings with the leaders. Raphael took Alphonse to all those meetings, beads in place, although he didn’t touch him every single time. Sometimes he would have the boy simply sit on his lap, others sitting by his side to pour his wine, and the other times, when it was Luke’s time to pour the wine, his body was touched and probed as intimately as if they were back in the warlord’s own tent, the other men cheering and teasing and laughing as whine was poured for all those around, even for himself. He didn’t remember much of those nights, and he preferred it that way.  
But finally, eventually, their caravan reached the great city, and some life came back to those dull grey eyes of him as he looked up at it. Buildings bigger than he had ever seen before stretching as far as the eye could see--and enough people to fill up ever corner of the place too—all kinds of people, young and old and big and small—and a few not looking like people at all.  
But he did not look for long. Eyes stared back at him, many greedy eyes looking upon his pale and gold cladded figure, and although none of them ever dared pass the wall of soldiers to reach him, their eyes did, piercing through him very much like that damned day this whole thing had started. The boy lowered his eyes and whimpered, fingers curling upon his seat as they made their way deeper into the city. Their destination was the largest building of them all—a castle built upon a rocky hill. Alphonse dared look back up then, when the white marble of its walls filled his whole vision. He jumped slightly as arms reached for him, pulled him carefully off his mount, the warlord smiling warmly up at him.  
“Here we are Alphonse, the capital of Amazik, let’s see if we can find you some more of that frozen cream that you like so much”  
“Lord Raphael” Another voice cut in before he could answer, one of the castle servants walking towards him.  
“We are happy you could make it, Lord Raphael—we have already made the proper accommodations for you, now, if you would be kind enough to follow me, Emperor Asmodeus is already waiting for you”  
Raphael did not conceal his grimace, and the servants did not conceal their indignant bristling at the gesture. The sole purpose for this visit might have been political matters, but he had still hoped to take his slave on a trip through the city first. Alphonse's eyes had not brightened in a long time, and he would have liked to prolong the shine.  
But it was what it was. The tour would have to wait. A few swift orders dismissed the vast majority of his troops to the quarters that had been prepared for them, although their hollers and whoops suggested they'd be searching out the nearest brothels before they settled in. Only Raphael, his slave, his servant, and a handful of his most trusted soldiers remained, marching as one inside.  
As impressive as the castle's exterior had been, the inside was far brighter. The cool marble motif continued throughout, the group walking down a hall of golden sunlight and pale pillars, an endless array of servants swarming past them. True servants, not slaves, it seemed to Alphonse; their expressions, while varied vastly between serious and jovial, were not the hollow blankness of slavery. A few non-human guests stalked the path as well; a peacock in ivory color stalked past them just as they neared the end of the room, casting what could have passed for an offended glance back at them as they nearly tripped over its dragging tail feathers.  
Then they were at the end. A massive door rose before them, and two intertwined serpents coiled above and around it, sculptures of amazing detail studded with winking gemstones. Two attendants at the door moved to push it open--only to be shoved back, the door bursting forward from the other side, a young man with white hair and military garb storming out.  
The man paused when he noticed them. There was recognition in his eyes, but it was not friendly.  
Raphael smirked.  
"Cool days to you, Seth."  
"...And warm nights to you, Raphael." The man practically spat the standard answer. The tension lasted only a second longer before Seth stepped past and beyond--only to stop again, at the same time that Raphael pressed inward. His blue eyes caught Alphonse's, but the blonde looked down again a moment later and then the doors had closed behind them.  
The room before them was massive, and the lack of furnishings within further emphasized that void. A single green flag, huge and emblazoned with the same twin beasts that had stood guard outside the door, hung from the wall over a single throne. An older man sat there, presumably the emperor of the city and surrounding lands. He looked up as they entered, his eyes flashing serpent green.  
Despite the novelty of his surroundings, Alphonse soon found himself in all too familiar territory again, his eyes glazing over as the two leaders haggled prices and discussed alliances. Apparently the city provided food and materials to Raphael's band in exchange for military protection; their group would now travel to the southwest to keep up their end of the bargain. Such talk interested him little, but he was grateful at least that Raphael did not touch him during it.  
Only one thing roused him from his stupor throughout the meeting, and he'd rather have gone without it. During what he would later remember as the halfway point of the discussion, a familiar unpleasant prickling ran down his spine, and he turned bleary eyes to see who was staring at him now. He was surprised to see a young boy--younger even than himself--dressed in fine robes and bearing a striking similarity to the emperor. The little thing started when he realized he'd been noticed, but continued to gawk, face going a deep red and squirming hands tugging the front of his tunic down hard. Then he spun and left, crying out as he exited the room:  
"C-o-o-o-llin, come to my chambers at ONCE!"  
That was the last Alphonse saw of him, and then the rest of the meeting dragged on until the end, at which point Raphael in turn dragged him away.  
The man took his hand as they stepped outside the chamber and back into the halls, led him forward as he spoke.  
“Is this your first time visiting a city like this one, Alphonse?”  
“Yes master” The boy answered dully. Raphael sighed sadly. The shine was already gone.  
“Would you like to see the rest of the castle before we go visit the city?”  
“If you wish, master” Raphael squeezed the boy’s fingers gently and took him forward. Despite the many riches that adorned the emperor’s castle, the slave boy didn’t seem much impressed, dully looking at whatever Raphael pointed out as they went through ballrooms, halls, dinning rooms. A brief flicker of interest passed through the boy’s eyes when he showed him the library, but it barely lasted a few seconds, and by then the boy’s eyes had strayed to the floor. Oh well, maybe he would have better luck showing him around the city.  
It was on their way out to the stables that the boy came to a sudden stop. Raphael turned around to see what had caught his interest, saw his grey eyes wide and bright and fixed on the gardens that adorned the emperor’s castle, the floor entirely covered by a plush green carpet of grass.  
“Alphonse…would you like to go see the gardens?”  
Silence, and then the boy nodded softly, never taking his eyes away from the green. Raphael smiled and ordered his men to wait for him at the stables. He noticed then that Luke had been staring too, but soon enough one of his soldiers dragged him away by the nape of the neck. Raphael watched them go, and then took the boy forward. The boy gasped softly as his bare feet touched the grass, and then let go of his master’s hand without any permission, stepping away from him and further into the garden as he stared, eyes bright.  
Raphael arched an eyebrow in amusement but he let him be. Alphonse had been a good and obedient slave lately, and he rarely asked anything of him other than food. If for once the boy wanted to stretch his legs, then so be it. Besides, he did look so tantalizingly adorable right now…  
The boy dragged his feet through the grass, gazed around in wonder at the trees and bushes surrounding them, and Raphael followed behind him, watching every move he made.  
“Do you like gardens, Alphonse?”  
“…I like green”  
“Then you must love this. Emperor Asmodeus’ gardens are thought to be the biggest—“  
“No” The boy had not turned to look at him once, but he turned to look at the edge of the gardens, where the green gave way to the white marble once more.  
“Where I come from…everything is green….you could run all day and all night, and everything was always green…you could climb the mountains and look down, and there was green as far as the eye could see…I never thought…that it would be gone…” The boy shuddered, and then began walking once more, setting up a brisker pace and trying to put distance between them. Raphael followed quietly.  
Eventually, the boy had made his way to the shade of a large oak tree, falling to hands and knees on the grass before he rolled onto his back, took a deep breath and sighed, gazing up into the branches above him.  
Raphael let him be for a while, but he soon grew impatient. They had a city to go through, before the sky got dark, and he had already sent his men to wait for him. He took a step forward—and then paused. The boy was smiling.  
In all the months he had owned Alphonse, the boy had not smiled once. He hadn’t smiled when he served him the sweetest of treats after starving for days, hadn’t smiled when he got him a new companion, or when he brought him silks and toys and jewels from his conquests, he didn’t smile when he granted him free reign on the camp either, but he smiled now up at a tree, fingers curled into the grass beneath him while the wind ruffled his hair.  
The smile vanished as soon as that familiar weight settled atop him, his eyes snapping open, watching in confusion as the warlord moved forward, hungrily claimed his lips, hands finding their way into his clothes, fingers tracing his skin.  
Raphael was surprised to have his prized slave struggling beneath him, shuddering and crying out and trying uselessly to push him off. He gathered his wrists in his hands and pinned them above his head. The blond was panting, looking up at him with fear and confusion on his face.  
“You are looking so beautiful right now Alphonse, don’t ruin this by misbehaving” He ran a hand tenderly down his rosy cheek, kissed his lips again and then began tracing his way down the boy’s neck to his collarbone.  
Alphonse shuddered and whimpered. It only made Raphael all the hungrier for him after watching his indifference for so long.  
“N-no, no p-please, not here, n-not here please M-master please—“  
“What have I told you about being ashamed of being seen pleasuring your master?” His cloak was undone, baring his pale chest to the warlord, who lost no time kissing and suckling him while it rose and fell rapidly with his erratic breathing. A broken miserable little croak broke from him at that, fingers curling uselessly on the robes of the man atop him. He could feel the warmth of his hardness pressing against his thighs through his robes.  
“N-no, no, not here, n-no no—t-the beads Master, p-please, not with the b-beads” Hope fluttered in his chest when the man paused, gazed thoughtfully down at him, then cupped his face tenderly in his hands as he spoke.  
“The gardens are part of the Emperor’s home, Alphonse, we shouldn’t make a mess here either, you will have to be strong for the both of us—shhh, shhh, it’s alright, just once, I’ll make it up to you Alphonse, be a good boy now.” He kissed him again as his hands ran all over his skin. The boy sobbed quietly, shuddered as the warlord spread his legs, nudged his hardness against his entrance.  
“M-master…master p-please…y-you don’t have t-the s-salve…i-it’s back in the r-room, please…” Raphael stroked his hair softly.  
“I will be so gentle with you Alphonse” The boy let out one last wretched croak and closed his eyes as the warlord took his hand in his, intertwined their fingers, as he pushed his cock inside him again and again, the smell of grass filling his nostrils while the warlord’s sweat slicked body pressed against his skin and in turn grinded him against the carpet of green beneath him.  
He clung back to him and sobbed and arched and moaned as the man claimed him. And out of the corner of his eye he saw someone—the boy from before, hiding behind some bushes, staring at him with wide eyes. He turned towards him. ‘Please’ he mouthed. The boy answered by covering his mouth with a hand and pushing the other into his pants. Alphonse shuddered as Raphael pushed himself into him once more, biting at his shoulder and groaning. He was pleased to feel his slave burying his face against his hair as he sobbed, slender fingers curling into his clothes, clinging to him as he rode him. It was long before he reached his peak, pushing his whole length inside the boy and groaning against his lips as the little thing shuddered in turn beneath him, his own cries of pleasure soon turning pained as the beads kept him from releasing.  
Raphael stroked his sides reassuringly and cooed to him while it passed, his own manhood still filling the boy up. He was very tempted to take the boy once more, but that would hurt the poor thing once more, and he had behaved so good after all. He held and stroked him until the last pained tremors abandoned his body, and then kissed him gently as his sobs quieted down. Finally he pulled back, readjusting his robes while the blond laid still on the grass except for a few erratic tremors, his breathing calming down. He fixed Alphonse’s robes as well, covering his body before he picked him up, cooing praises and kissing him gently as he strode with him towards the barns.  
Luke glared at him as the lord strode forward, smiling with his trembling charge held in his arms, but he paid him little mind. Fresh horses had been prepared for their trip, and this time Raphael decided to have the boy ride with him, carrying him on his lap as he mounted his horse, the boy’s trembling fingers still curled into his clothes. He gave the boy a gentle kiss on the forehead and then they were gone.  
The streets were crowded, but it mattered little. Everyone knew who he was and made way for him and his men, and so before long they had made it to the markets. Despite any attempts to show the boy anything, he kept his face pressed against his master’s chest, trembling and whimpering softly, answering questions with either nods or shakes of his head. He didn’t pay any mind to the new bracelets he bought him, barely even held to the flowers he got for him, and only half-heartedly ate the frozen cream he got him.  
Hmm, perhaps he should have taken the beads off before he claimed him…  
He raised his eyes. The only thing left for them to watch was the slave market, and he was quite sure that nothing there would catch the boy’s eye. With another sad sigh he rounded his men and turned his horse, began heading back towards the castle.  
“P-please—agh!” A weak little voice, pained and broken. He turned around to see a small crowd of men surrounding something, one of them kicking something in the midst of it roughly.  
“Your master ordered you to get on your knees you bitch!” Another pained cry, another kick.  
“I-I..I c-can’t m-master please….j-just a second…i-it h-hurts—aah!” Another kick, another cry.  
“Does it look like I care if it hurts? I told you to get the fuck up!”  
“..Y-yes master…I-I’m sorry, I’m s-so sorry….I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry” The apologies kept repeating themselves. Raphael managed to see bruised bare skin, a small frail body, blond hair slick with sweat and dirt as the one in the middle of it all tried to lift himself, limbs trembling, fell back against the floor and kept sobbing and apologizing—screaming as he was kicked once more, cruel fingers curling onto his hair and yanking him upwards.  
The warlord's horse came to a pause with a quick flick of the reigns, Raphael watching silently and his men falling into quiet array around him. The ill treatment of slaves was not something he often concerned himself with; pointless abuse was the only sort he objected to, and even then his reprimends were often light. In this case, where the owner was not a member of his band, he could not even be sure if there wasn't some cause behind it. Yet--quite despite himself--he suddenly dismounted his horse, one of his soldiers taking the reigns and putting a watchful gaze on Alphonse as their master strode forward.  
The men crowded around the scene parted at his approach, gaping at his fine clothing and polished sword. Only one person remained beside the shaking slave, presumably the owner; he looked up, fat and sunken face brightening as he noticed the warlord. He offered a slight bow.  
"Master Raphael, ain't it? I heard a lot about you--"  
"What has your slave done to offend you?"  
The dull eyes blinked, startled and more than a little annoyed at the interruption, but then he snorted.  
"He says he can't please the customers no more--but oh, he will. You want a round, my lord? Price is nice and cheap!"  
"It was my turn next--" a whine from the crowd; the owner snarled and made a rude gesture in that direction.  
"Highest payer gets priority!"  
Raphael turned to regard the slave. He was still trying--uselessly--to get to his knees. A boy of around Alphonse's age and size, with that same beautiful golden hair. But his body was marred with welts and dirt and dried blood. A fresher red leaked from the back of him, mixed with white.  
"No, but I'd like to buy him. How much will you sell him for?"  
Another blank stare; then the man grunted.  
"Sorry lord, but he ain't for sale. This bitch makes me good money. But if you want extra rounds--"  
"No, I want all of him. And you will sell him to me."  
Raphael's sword was out and on the piggish man's neck before he could object. Where others might have squealed or recoiled, the owner went bright red with rage.  
The warlord's other hand reached into a pocket, withdrawing a pile of golden coins.  
"This should be suff--"  
The man brayed, charging, yanking a greasy dagger from his belt. He hit the ground a moment later, head spinning off along the street. Sharp cries broke out from the crowd, and Raphael turned cold eyes toward them.  
"He attacked and I defended myself. If anyone would like to tell a different story, please do. I'm eager to hear it."  
A few grumbles and scowls later and the crowd had dispersed. The man was no friend of theirs, just a means to an end, and they weren't about to risk their own lives to get him justice. With the matter thus resolved, Raphael stooped, reaching out and gently stroking the boy's hair. He did look so very much like Alphonse... perhaps that would not be a good thing. But something had comepelled him, and the boy's life was his now.  
"It's alright. I'll care for you now."  
The boy looked up at him with wide eyes, bright and full of life when his bod seemed much closer to death, abused and malnourished. The boy gaped at him, apparently confused, his eyes leaving his face for a moment to gaze at the corpse of the one who had been his master. He wasn’t confused any more.  
The boy bowed before him—as best as he could in his condition, his forehead pressed against the ground as he trembled with the effort to at least raise his knees slightly beneath himself, fingers curling into the ground.  
“T-thank you kind M-master! I am unworthy of your c-care…please do with me a-as you see fit…I’ll obey you until my death…” the boy croaked, staying pressed against the ground not only because his body would not allow him to rise, but because his master had not commanded him to move yet.  
"Don't."  
The boy didn't understand--or, perhaps, understood all to well; a sharper tremor than normal revealed the flinch. He had displeased his new master already--  
Gentle hands wrapped around him, pulling him close, off sore legs into a warm embrace.  
"You're too close to death already. You can worry about bowing later. For now, rest."  
Lifting the little one off the ground with ease, Raphael moved back to his horse, leaping up and on with one swift motion, his mount snorting at the sudden weight. One hand reached around Alphonse to take the reigns while the other cradled his new pet close. The tour was over (had been over even before, anyway); it was time to go to their lodgings now, to prepare for the trip to come and also to tend to the injured slave.  
He nudged his horse's side to set the beast in motion, his troop marching forward yet again. Luke cast an unhappy glance at both Alphonse and the new victim before dropping his gaze. Raphael spoke lightly.  
"This is Alphonse, your new brother. And Alphonse, this is...?"  
“Um…” The boy gazed up at him for a moment, in awe that the man had carried his dirty little body so close to himself. Both him and the other boy were dressed in the finest silks he had seen in a long time, smelling of perfume and flowers and grass. His eyes strayed sadly down.  
“My…previous master called me w-whore…and before that…before that my name was P-Prince—but my name will be anything you wish, Master!” The boy answered, suddenly looking worriedly up at him. He was a slave; he shouldn’t have any will of his own!  
The boy sitting in front of them made no motion to acknowledge either him or his master, remained quiet here he had been left.  
"Prince?"  
Despite himself, Raphael laughed at that; whoever his first owner had been, he had a sense of humor. The little thing trembled at the noise, though, so he soon quieted, smiling at him.  
"Then Prince it shall be. It's a fine name."


	3. Chapter 3

It was the first time in a very long time that Raphael had had something to take his mind off Alphonse, and all the trials and frustrations with which the boy presented him. The little marvel in his arms had been more than worth the intervention, something he exciteably realized more and more as the seconds slipped passed. He was so much like the other in appearance, and unlike either Alphonse or Luke, he was already showing signs of obedience, reverence--as he ought. This might be a very good thing, for all of them.  
Prince fell into exhausted sleep before they were more than halfway home, Raphael quite startled until he confirmed that the little thing was still alive. Once that had been dealt with he took time to admire the boy for what he could offer him physically rather than socially. The tiny boy was completely naked, allowing the warlord's eyes to roam over rosy nipples and soft little member, memories of his ass also rising in his mind. The beauty was marred by filth and thinness, but both could be fixed easily enough. A fine new toy, indeed.  
One thing did trouble him, though; his boys were not yet a matching set. A few piercings for the bells--ah, no. Those had been a punishment for Alphonse, no matter how lovely they were, and he'd not inflict the same on this pet unless he was similarly disobedient. Well, not the ones on his shaft, at any rate.  
Raphael kissed the matted hair tenderly as the castle drew closer in the distance.  
The quarters that had been prepared for them were as fine as Raphael's own, if not finer. With his men arrayed in elaborate tents and barracks outside, Raphael made his way inside. No cage had been provided, but a ring of chains outside the door sufficed for Luke. The other two would share his bed that evening.  
: A hot meal had already been laid out for them, but Raphael did not set in immediately. He set Prince gently upon the cushioned floor and then lifted the tray up and strode out, plucking small fragments from each of the parts of his meal and offering them to Luke, finishing by giving the boy a sip of his wine. What could have been mistaken for mercy was, however, nothing but a test for poison; relations between his tribe and the emperor had been increasingly uneasy as of late. When Luke continued breathing several moments later, Raphael was satisfied, and shut the door on him without offering him another scrap.  
Settling down aside from Alphonse, Raphael set the plate between them both; there was ample food for them and for the new boy besides. Lifting a piece of fruit to his lips, the warlord nibbled it with only passing interest, eyes fixed on the other.  
"He seems like a nice boy, doesn't he, Alphonse? I think he'll make a good companion for you."  
“If you say so, master” The boy said obediently. Although the expression on his face showed everything but obedience. Alphonse had never been good at hiding his emotions, not once since he’d bought him, and he’d easily seen through all his lies, but right now he wasn’t doing any efforts to hide what he felt. He glared hatefully at his master, sitting where he was, hands balled to fist and curled on his clothing.

The flame of hatred had rekindled in his eyes, when previously it had been a miserable acceptance of his new status. There was hatred and hurt. The boy didn’t move to touch the food, or to look at the man’s new slave, he simply stared right into his eyes, and then—

“I need to take a piss, Master, may I?”  
Raphael made no motion to hide his own emotions either. He frowned, eyes narrowing as he regarded the boy in front of him, debated claiming him yet again with the beads on. The slave had been nothing but spoiled all day--fed expensive cream, shown the beauties of the city, left to relax from his tiresome journey during the meeting with the emperor. He had been nothing but spoiled since he had bought him, and he still--!  
Then the warlord's face softened. Well, he had taken him with the beads once already today... that had been unjust of him, even if the boy's tender body had begged him to do it. He should have removed them, or ended their lovemaking more swiftly. He would have to make it up to him--  
Wait. No. The beads had been a secondary thought on the boy's part. He had not protested them at the beginning. "Not here." That's what he had said, pleading, beautiful body framed with emerald grass...  
Raphael's eyes widened before settling back into neutrality.  
"You may."  
If that was what had stirred his anger... maybe he ought do it again. It had brought life back into him after so long--  
No, that was wrong. A familiar face flashed through his mind, dark hair and smiles, and he grimaced. That was how HE would think.  
But ah, the matter of Alphonse's mood could wait until later. There was something a little more dire to attend to at present, and maybe tomorrow a trip through the gardens unattended would life the other's spirits. They would not be leaving for a few days, not until horses and men had rested and new supplies had been acquired. A good time to tend to his new slave, and try to soothe Alphonse's ruffled feathers as well.  
Picking up a single small fruit off the relatively untouched plate, Raphael shifted closer to the sleeping boy. He was loathe to wake him, but his body needed food even more than it needed rest. A little of the one, and then he could go back to the other. Calloused fingers ran gently over the small body.  
"Wake up, Prince. I have food for you."  
“Thank you, kind master” Alphonse’s voice, not sounding thankful at all as he got to his feet. With his back turned to him, the warlord didn’t notice when the boy took a pear from the plate, but he did notice when the boy left the room as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Luke jumped, startled as a pear fell onto his lap, looked up as Alphonse sat several feet away from him, his back turned as he cursed under his breath and fidgeted with something inside his robes. A minute or so passed, the boy letting out a few pained sounds, and then he abruptly lifted his fist, something clutched in it, the boy ready to throw it away. He never really did, and his trembling fist slowly came down, fingers parting to let the thing clatter down against the floor. Ah, the beads.

“You were right Luke” The older boy jumped at the sound of the other’s trembling voice, looked worriedly at him as he shook.

“I guess we did see green again…”  
In all the months Luke had been imprisoned with him, he had always--rather stupidly, rather guiltily--hoped it would become easier to bear. Not a dismissal of the other's suffering, far from it, but at least the strength to carry on, to put his efforts always towards breaking free rather than spending useless nights weeping for the pain he could not prevent.

It had not happened. Alphonse's words--the defeat as the hellish beads slipped to the floor beside him--something inside Luke twisted and broke. Not for the first time. And not for the last.

"Alphonse, I--"

'I'm sorry?' He had said that many times and it had done no good. In fact, it only seemed to do harm. Alphonse did not enjoy the acknowledgment of his suffering... of the shame.

Luke had not seen what happened in the gardens, but he could guess. Finding the right words to say after was much harder.

Twisting the pear in his hands, a minute passed, and then another, the younger boy simply staring forward at nothing.

"...Thank you. Although, I should ask; did you eat anything yourself?"

"I'm not the one he's starving…currently"

"Ah, well, that's a pity."

That was not the usual sort of thing Luke said. Despite himself, Alphonse glanced at him; the priest offered a tired smile.

"Before we went into the throne room, I heard yelling. That white haired man looked pretty important... maybe things are going a bit sour as far as their alliance is concerned. Maybe they didn't poison him yet, but will soon. And hey, if he starves us both then we'll get out just fine, right?"

It was a weak attempt at humor, but something--anything--was needed to press back against this darkness.

It didn’t work. Alphonse’s eyes narrowed at his words, and his words were no joke.

“How can you still think we’ll ever get away from this? Our lives are over! You saw it yourself—The child in there—his master is dead, and the bastard just plucked him up like nothing happened—That’s the third time this happens! If someone kills HIM, the same thing will happen to us!” He hissed leaning closer as he spoke.

“This place is rotten to the core—everyone here, you are nothing but a thing to them, we’ll either belong to him, one of his soldiers—or that disgusting princeling child that’s been stalking around! This is not going to end…not until…” He went quiet, voice faltering as he shuddered, eyes straying downwards. Without another word he stood and strode briskly away. One of the warlord’s soldiers stationed up for guard stared at him, Alphonse glared back, then glared at the pot plant next to him, and proceeded to empty his bladder upon it.  
The guard laughed. Alphonse found no humor in this--or in anything at all any more--but some part of him was still grateful. Better amusement than another pair of slavering eyes taking in his cock.  
With that taken care of Alphonse slowly--reluctantly--turned back towards his master's room. He hadn't the slightest intention of going back inside, not til he was dragged there, but he knew trying to slink too far away would get him nothing but punishment. Hell, even just sitting outside would probably get him punishment, but...  
His fingers clenched into slow fists. Who gave a fuck? Whatever he did or didn't do he would be punished regardless. So let him have this at least, a few precious moments without the man's eyes on him.  
He strode swiftly back over to Luke, settling into his place a couple feet away. The other blonde had curled into a little ball, apparently trying to sleep after his failed attempt to comfort him.  
\--No, wait.  
Alphonse's eyes widened with alarm, taking in the pale skin, the shaking. Luke wasn't sleeping. He was dying.  
“Luke!—“ He went abruptly quiet, stiffening and looking around. The guards hadn’t noticed yet. He looked down at the other blonde once more, making sure the boy was dying. The blond was trembling and sweating profusely, his body beginning to spasm.

“Luke you lucky bastard…you better not have eaten the whole thing” He began looking desperately for the pear, any traces of it—and found it a few feet away from the blond, snatched it. There was not much of it left, but it would be enough. He stared at it for a second, took a deep breath, and then went at it like a starving man, eating the whole thing, down to the core and seeds. When he was done, he gave Luke one last glance, turned his body so that no one would be able to see his face from afar, reached out and for one moment, took his hand.

“Listen to me, be strong Luke, don’t cry…don’t let them drag you back” And with that he was up and gone, striding forward hastily away, looking for a dark corner to hide in and die quietly, where the damned warlord couldn’t find him until it was all too late.

Inside, Prince woke up with a start at the sound of the slamming door, crying out in fear and cowering, looking around with wide eyes.

“I-I’m awake m-master please don’t h-hurt me I’m sorry I’m sorry!”  
Raphael's sour mood had dissipated somewhat upon regarding his precious new belonging, and it softened still more at his startled reaction. The boy had suffered a wretched existence, it seemed, but that was about to change. With a little luck, his story would convince Alphonse that he was quite well off also.

"Don't be frightened, Prince, it's alright."

The little blonde blinked and looked down as a soft piece of fruit was pressed into his hands, Raphael smiling down at him.

"If you eat too much now you'll be sick, so just a bit for now, I'm afraid. But don't worry, there's plenty more waiting once your health improves."

At that moment, the boy was far too hungry to remember his manners and lessons, and in a few seconds he had wolfed down the fruit, barely chewing before he swallowed. He licked his fingers clean, despite the dirt that still covered them, and then finally he turned to look up at Raphael when he could find no more food in his reach. Wide blue eyes fixed on his emerald ones, and when the boy spoke he did so softly, almost dreamily.

“I…I-I thought I had met you on a dream, master….master…” At that moment, the boy’s eyes suddenly widened in apparent distress, and soon enough the boy was attempting to bow before him once more, whimpering softly as he spoke.

“A-ah Master…although I’m not worthy…may I have the h-honor of knowing your name?”  
In some ways Raphael was all too easy to please.  
He brightened at Prince's words, such precious, trembling little words. Well, this was nice! This was much better than the useless beggining and crying and whining Alphonse had given him. It was good that he'd saved this boy; a fine new toy for him and a good influence for his other pet, in stark contrast to the useless rat with which Lucian had saddled him.  
Raphael reached out, again gently stopping the slave from trying to bow to him, sliding him on to his lap. The thought of fucking the boy pleased him, and he allowed that little happiness to press against Prince's thighs, but he had no intent of claiming his prize tonight.  
"My name is Raphael, little one. I'm going to clean you now; you can sleep during it if you wish."  
He nuzzled the boy's forehead and scooped him up, turning towards the smaller secondary room awaiting them through the corner. A basin of water waited within, heated by a series of pipes and furnaces rather than by natural hot springs as his own ways. It was unfortunately not a very large basin, which preluded him from fucking Alphonse in it, but no matter. Perhaps when the boy got back, he would make love to him in bed while Prince slept alongside them, showing the new pet what would soon be expected of him. Alphonse would be cross, but he always was anyway, and his master had a need. He'd make up for it and for his previous lack of restraint tomorrow.  
He slipped Prince's battered body carefully into the water, letting the boy lean against him as he grabbed cloth and soap and began diligently wiping away the grime.  
The boy had stiffened and whimpered when the warlord had first picked him up and put him on his lap, but as he spoke and strode with him towards the bathroom, he had soon relaxed. His bright blue eyes followed his every movement, watching him with rapt attention, and despite his express permission that the boy might rest while he bathed him, those eyes remained wide open and settled on him. He lowered the boy into the water and he shivered as it warmed up his body, remained quiet and still as the warlord found a cloth and began wiping the grime, sweat and blood from his body.

The poor dear was so dirty that he had to empty the basin at least twice before he could continue cleaning him up, the little thing shivering softly at his caresses. At least until his hands reached to clean between his legs. 

Prince moaned beautifully as he caressed him between his legs, and although he was trying to clean rather than pleasure, it did not take long for his manhood to perk up. The warlord grinned, moved his hand further down to clean—And then suddenly the boy jerked in pain, crying out sharply and wincing away from him although he had barely even touched him, the boy beginning to sob, his shaft going rapidly limp.

“I-I’m s-sorry Master R-Raphael I’m s-sorry….i-it h-hurts, I’m s-so sorry….”  
Raphael's expression went livid at that, Prince sobbing all the harder. Master was mad, master would hurt him now, master would probably kill--  
Rough fingers gently stroked his face.  
"...I'm so sorry, Prince. I didn't realize just how fully that filthy bastard had hurt you. It does need to be cleaned before it becomes infected, however. Would you prefer to do it yourself?"  
Slowly, his frightened sobs subsided, and again the boy was left looking up at him in awe, and it took him a few seconds to answer. He softly shook his head.

“I-I’m…too afraid m-master I can’t even…t-touch there, it h-hurts so much but…but m-maybe if you hold me…m-maybe I can be strong for you—I will try my best Master!” The boy proclaimed, straightening as best as he could and shivering as he gazed up into his master’s eyes, asking for his touch once more.  
Offering his body to him even when he was in such agony. The slave's dedication to his master sent a ripple of delight through Raphael, and he wondered where on earth this blessed little wonder had come from. A fine whore house, perhaps? He doubted the filthy man who had squandered him had been the one to raise him so.  
He stroked the boy's hair; clean now, and soft.  
"Stay here for a moment, Prince."  
The warlord slipped back into the main room, returning shortly after with a small collection of his own healing salves and bandages. Setting both them and a few soft towels aside, he pulled the boy close with one arm, his grip comforting but firm as his other hand slid downwards.  
Prince cried out and jerked and sobbed apologies when in his pain his nails left little marks against his owner's bronze skin. Raphael only nudged gently at him, murmured soft reassurances, working as quickly and tenderly as he could to rub loose the dirt and blood from the boy's raw and torn body. When it was over he pulled him out of the water, setting the limp little form on the towels, drying him before he went in with the salves.  
It hurt, but when it was over Prince felt better than he had before, the creams pleasantly cool against his hurts. Raphael kissed him gently once it was finished, and was quite happy to feel his slave kiss him back, but he tasted the boy for only a moment before settling his head down, stroking him.  
"You did well, Prince. Rest now."  
The boy had more wounds yet to fix--scrapes and weals all over his skin--but they would be an easier mend. Raphael began working on them after he spoke, applying more lotions, wrapping bandages around the worst of them.  
The boy’s face had gone red the moment he had kissed him, and even now he continued to gaze dreamily up at his master. He also seemed to want to slip off into sleep, his body exhausted, but he didn’t quite yet…

A-ah, Master Raphael had ordered him to rest—and he did want to rest! He should be obedient too…but…but…

The warlord was startled to feel the boy reaching out for him. However, his slender fingers did not reach out to curl against his chest, instead they came to rest lightly, hesitantly against his tight.

“M-Master Raphael, you have been so good to me w-when I have given you nothing but trouble…please let me make it up to you master…” Slowly, his fingers traced their way inwards, the boy watching him for a sign of displease, and when he found none, he moved on. His hand found its way to his crotch, tracing gently, teasingly over his still hardened manhood.

“I would be honored to taste your seed, Master…”  
Ah.  
Raphael's eyes went blank and hungry. Looking up--at the unfettered lust on that strong face--Prince was afraid. He should have just slept, he shouldn't have said a thing, now surely...  
Raphael, for his part, was simply stunned. Was this... what it would have been like to purchase a proper slave, one trained and bred for his pleasure? Why had he not done this sooner?  
Ah, well--Alphonse had been something of an impulsive purchase, and he'd told himself he wanted a lover who could be his equal. Yet... yet... this boy who had just taken off the streets, with his frail body and wonderful obedience, was making him happier than Alphonse had in a long while. There was pleasure here, and not just one-sided, but mutual pleasure, true affection, a proper companion--  
Despite himself Raphael was straddling Prince a second later. The sweet thing's cries drowned in his lips as they devoured him, kissing him long, hungrily, tongue deep down that soft warm throat. Surely this was no human; this was some sweet spirit delivered unto him for his happiness, a sign that the gods were pleased with him.  
And so he ought to fully claim that prize. It was his right, was it not? This frail thing owed him life and happiness. He deserved it. He deserved pleasure, he deserved to take, he deserved power after all those bitter years in the wastes, struggling and fighting and stealing for a bite of bread--!  
"--No."  
The warlord's voice surprised both of them. Raphael had an odd look on his face as he peered down at Prince, the latter's heart thudding tortorously in his chest.  
"You... have pleased me plenty already, and will please me more soon enough. But for now, you need to rest. And that is an order, Prince."  
Getting slowly to his feet, Raphael scooped the trembling boy up, kissing him once more and briefly before setting him on the expansive nest of blankets and pillows that was their bed. With one final look at him the warlord turned and stalked swiftly to the door. It was time to find Alphonse.

Slipping outside, Raphael cussed none too quietly when Alphonse didn't reveal himself. Little pouty bastard; he was going to fuck him long and hard when he retrieved him. Thankfully a word to the guards was all it would take to pinpoint him, and before then--  
He roughly kicked his slave's servant, snapping when the only reply was a pained gurgle.  
"Where is Al--"  
The warlord paused, white skin and hot sweat becoming apparent all too soon. He grabbed Luke a second later, yanking him up, staring at the tearstreaked face as the priest convulsed.  
Coldness.  
Raphael stood in the middle of a familiar desert. The howls of the dark wind stole his screams. His existence was nothing to the world. And soon even that small light would fade.  
No, no, no, he couldn't be dying. He would be in the same state as the servant already, surely. But why then? Was the poison taking longer in his stronger body? Then why was Prince alive? Why--  
The wine.  
He dropped Luke, drawing his blade in the next breath, turning. It was the only thing the priest had had that he and his slaves had not. He was unsure how many of his men had partaken. He was about to find out.  
His snarl turned into a full fledged roar, and his soldiers came running. Some did not answer, but most were trained men, and had been wiser than to indulge with tensions so high. A swift order to a few to guard Prince--an order to a few others to find Alphonse--and he was off, surging forward at the head of a wave of barbarians to find the emperor.

How long had it been? Long enough, he was sure of it. His heart beat too fast, his breathing was ragged, and he was perfectly healthy.

As he walked, none of the guards paid him more than a glance—but also none of them would let him go into any room either. Which wouldn’t have been a good idea, in his opinion, least he find himself with some other lecherous pervert who decided the rules of finding things applied to him as well. As a result, he had ended back in the gardens.

He had hesitated, at first, but only very briefly. The night was already upon them, and the garden was full of shadows and hiding spots, if he played his cards well enough, he might go undetected until the next morning…he might at least spend his very last moments against the green he had so missed…against the green the bastard had soiled…

He’d found a dark little spot amidst some bushes, big enough to hide all of him.

The only problem was, he wasn’t dying.

He cursed under his breath, cursed again as the sudden movement made the bells all around his body chime softly and tried to stay as still as he could. Perhaps if he waited a little longer…no, nothing…and the warlord would be looking for him soon…might fuck him right there if he did find him…

That was when he heard the screaming.

The boy tensed up. He could not see what was happening from his hiding place, but he certainly did not like the sound of it—dying or not, he was not leaving now. Once more, quietly, he cursed.

The cries and screams of battle began to grow in magnitude, and as he lay there hoping to die, Alphonse wondered what was going on inside. Would it be better or worse if the emperor won? The princeling, the little monster from the gardens, would likely keep him then. Would he be kinder than Raphael? --That answer at least was obvious.  
\--No, no, no. This was his one chance at escape. Luke's death had given him that opportunity. Surely there had to be a way to die, in the middle of war, a blade he could jump on, a knife he could seize--  
Then the noises stopped.  
That was, in many ways, worse. Alphonse strained his ears--heard nothing, save the thudding of his heart and the dull buzz of insects beyond human concern. Why had they stopped? The battle couldn't be over, it had only just--  
He heard footsteps coming closer. The thought of Raphael taking him against the grass rose along the bile and despite himself he jumped up, ran, ran as fast as he--  
A heavy body thudded against him, and a moment later he was carried away, kicking and struggling. From what he could see of the man's insignia, Raphael had won.  
The corridors were too quiet as they went forward. And other things were wrong as well. His guard sidestepped only one body--one of the emperor's soldiers, it seemed--and despite the servants crowded around it, glaring at him, he raised no weapon against them. Then, finally, as they approached the way to Raphael's quarters, the noise began. Faint at first, rising quickly--Luke's screams, sharp and pained.  
When they rounded the corner, Raphael and several of the more prominent members of his gang were waiting. The warlord was kicking the servant on the floor, brutally, savagely, over and over without pause as the blonde shrilled and struggled and vomited. He looked up when Alphonse was presented to him, offering a grim smile, and then focused his attention back on Luke.  
"...I don't really need you any more, do I? We have Prince now. He'll serve much better than you."  
Raphael stepped back, sword still in hand, aligning the blade carefully with the spasming priest's neck.  
The soldier holding him let out a yelp as the boy in his hold bit him, and the startlement was enough to allow him to wriggle free. A moment later the boy was by Luke’s side, not between the blade and the servant, simply falling to his knees by his side, both of his hands taking one of his and squeezing gently. He had no intention of stopping the warlord, no intention to beg for the older boy’s life. No, Luke was the lucky one. 

A swift movement of the blade, and in a second his head would be off, he would be free, forever.

Alphonse shuddered, gazed at the other with tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry Luke…you were a good friend…I’m so sorry…” His voice quiet, barely loud enough for the other to hear, and then he closed his eyes, bowed his head and waited, fingers curled tightly around the other’s hand.  
The agony ravaging his body did not permit Luke to speak. But there, at the end, his fingers closed around the hand that comforted him.  
"What the hell is wrong with your eyes?"  
A hoarse whisper. Alphonse did not realize it was directed at him until the steel toed war boot that had been brutalizing his servant slammed into him instead.  
Raphael was on him before he could stand, fingers digging into his collarbone and doing the lifting for him, smashing him against the wall.  
"Envy? Is that what it is? You envy him? That's what it is? That's what lurks behind your tears?"  
The warlord spun, rammed Alphonse against the opposite wall as his soldiers drew back to give him room. The boy made no sound.  
"Because death is better than my love to you, isn't it? Isn't it?! Better than a life of riches and spoils, of more safety and control and power than your miserable little green land could ever offer you! But you just bitch and bitch and bitch about freedom this and grass that. You want to know something, Alphonse? You want to know what's funny about all this?!"  
He dropped the slave only to pin him with a rough foot.  
"You think you'd be better off at home? You think you'd be free and happy up there where the desert couldn't reach you? You're wrong! The desert and the tribes move farther north with every circle of the sun. Your family's dead, your village is ruined, and soon all the north will be that way. But I saved you! I did! I gave you love and mercy when the Mazesks would have roasted you alive and gorged on your entrails, when the Palli would have tested their poisons on you, when the pirates of the south would have sold you for parts! I did! I DID! Do you know why? Because I wanted something that would love me, something better than the whores and their false affections, the slaves of the houses that can't help but love whoever fucks them, the peasants who could only fear me. I forgot that, but I remember now. I have my power and now I will have my happiness. But as you have tried to deny me my right--after all I've done to earn it--I will deny you your happiness as well."  
Luke retched the last of the food he'd eaten--the only food he'd eaten in days. Some small flicker of life seemed to enter him then, and he snarled from where he was sprawled on the floor.  
"B-bastard..."  
"Yes, no one ever likes those in power, do they? But it doesn't matter. There's no right in this world, no great order to things. There's just power. I have power. And I will take my happiness with it."  
His fingers clawed into Alphonse's hair, yanking him up and forcing him to face Luke, hissing.  
"Just for you, Alphonse, just for you, I'll spare him. It would be so unkind of me to give another the gift you cherish, after all. But come now, you wanted to see the gardens, let's go visit the gardens again, shall we?"  
No... no... no no no--no--NO--NO NO NONONO--  
Begging turned to screaming, to fighting as the man pulled him down the corridor, out into the yard. He screamed and clawed and bit but it was no use. The man brought him to the tree, the tree that had seemed so familiar and comforting before, and with one brisk motion tore off his robes and slammed him against it. Then he was on him, the stink of sweat and muffled cries, the slave fucked again and again and again against the only bit of the world that had still made him smile.

He couldn’t help it.

They all came flooding back to him at the same time, at the smell, at the feel of the bark against his skin, at the smell of the grass around him, at the wind ruffling his hair—

He remembered climbing the great oak for the first time, playing hide and seek, laying beneath its shadow with his brother and sister when his sister had still been alive, the voice of his mother calling them for dinner. They were his happiest memories, and each one of them turned dark and rotten inside him with each thrust of the man’s hips against his, with each breath of his stench, the feel of his sweaty skin against his, warm against his own when the wind was cold, with each time he pushed his filth all the way inside him.

He’d struggled wildly to stop it, left small gouges on the bark of the tree and blood on the tip of his fingers, his throat hoarse from screaming. It was all for nothing. Raphael buried his cock inside his slave one last time, breathing harshly as he filled him up, his seed slipping back outside and dribbling down his pale thighs. The boy was quiet now—mostly so, a few weak little sobs still breaking from him as he shuddered, as his body was held still between the bark of the tree and the body of his master, eyes wide and unseeing as tears slid down his cheeks.

He had nothing left, not a single happy thought unstained by his stench, nothing to wish for, and nothing to fight for. His family was dead, their lands ravaged and destroyed—any thought he could come up with led to him. To him and his words and his hands all over him, to his scent and his taste and the feel of his body enveloping all of his, getting inside him...  
There was no life left in Alphonse's eyes when it was done.  
It was not pain that had broken him. There was no pain. His body had in fact answered the warlord's caresses, left milky streams against the bark. The greatest proof that, in paradox, both confirmed the gods hate for him and that they did not exist at all.  
Rather, there was simply nothing left inside him. Nothing to hate. Nothing to hope. He was in hell and always would be. There could be no escape, and so there could be no struggle.  
Yet the tears still rose, endless, as the warlord finally peeled him off the wood and dragged him back inside.  
Luke was waiting and too much alive when they got back, eyes sunken and face still beaded with sweat, but otherwise recovered from whatever poison or curse or other ill fate had so afflicted him. Raphael didn't look at him, paused at the door to his chambers instead, considering.  
In the end he chained Alphonse beside his servant, and made his bed with Prince instead. He did not notice, as he drew the warm little body close and drifted to sleep, that the boy was still awake--and stiff with terror.  
Outside, Luke said nothing to Alphonse, but when the broken boy crumpled beside him he pulled him close and held him tight, stroking his back softly as he wept.  
For once, the boy let him, his frail body resting weakly against his, only moving to curl his fingers into the other’s clothing as he sobbed. The night was dark, the wind was cold against his skin, his body bear, but Luke felt warm. Luke was the last flicker of light in the world. The other’s arms drew around him and held him close, and as he rested his head against his chest and sobbed, he slowly found rest…Briefly.

The nightmares came to him fast, hands reaching for him, the man’s cruel smirk, the fell of the bark and the sweat against his skin. He woke up with a scream, looked up into Luke’s face, confused, only to remember everything that had happened, sob himself to sleep, and have everything happen again and again and again.  
When Alphonse awoke for what might have been the eighteenth time, something had changed. The air was colder, and felt very strange, but he was warm. It took him a moment to register that Luke had wrapped his shirt around him. It took another to register that something was wrong with the air.  
Little things were falling through the air, and when they reached him through the open arches of the hall, they were cold and wet.  
Rain? It couldn't be. It didn't rain where there wasn't green.  
People were crying out in delight and running through the halls around them, running through the streets outside, excited yells and the sound of music and celebration filling the air. No one spared a glance for the abused boys chained outside the doorway. Alphonse followed the proceedings with dull eyes until he caught sight of the gardens, at which point he tucked himself down against Luke again and whimpered. The priest continued to look at the sky, shivering as the chill began to set in and wondering not for the first time if this was hell. To have rain in this place, now, the one time they could take no comfort in it.  
The door beside them parted, Raphael's head emerging. He regarded the rain for a moment before stepping out into the hall and walking away.  
Whispers, some real and some rumors, darted on quick wings from the servant's lips that day. As he and Alphonse faded in and out of consciousness, huddled together against the cold and wet, they took in much of what had occurred the night prior. A bout of bad mold had gotten into the wine, the cause of his sudden violent illness and Raphael's assumptions. When the warlord had stormed off to take the emperor's head (after taking a few of his guards' along the way), he had found the man in little better shape than his servant, carting along an even iller prince. At knifepoint and swordpoint between the two forces the error had been discovered. The cellarmaster was executed on the spot, and a very uneasy peace settled in.  
Luke's beating had been a way for his lord to vent; it was his fault, after all, for leading to the newly soured relations. Said relations had led Raphael to announce a departure for the preceding morning, but the rain had changed all that.  
In that land of rolling sand the rain was sacred, and the people saw it as a divine signal. The night before had been filled with blood, but the gods would bring healing for both the families of the dead and the concerned parties in its place. Taking advantage of superstition and religion, Raphael had chosen to make a more regal apology to the emperor, offering a yearly reduction in the price of his services and his sincerest regret in the hopes that they could find forgiveness both from each other and the gods. Irate, but knowing he had little choice, the emperor had accepted his proposal. The people were frightened and eager for peace, and his country could not stand the loss of the tribe defending its southern borders.  
When Raphael had finished--and secured his stay for the few days it would take to properly replenish his travelling supplies--he went back into his room and did not emerge again. No food was offered to the two outside.  
The rain continued through the night, but morning brought the familiar heat of the sun. The dampness would not linger long before that power, but while it did a certain shine hung in the air, beautiful and almost magical. It was to this gleam that Alphonse awoke, from a sleep that exhaustion and chill had finally purged of nightmares--to find a too familiar face gawking at him.  
The little prince--Ezekiel, by the rumors--had the decency to hurriedly pull his hand out of his pants this time. He did not have the decency, however, to be a decent person.  
"So I heard your master hates you now, right? You think he'll sell you? I'm going to ask him. If he is I'll buy you. Even if he doesn't maybe I'll MAKE him sell you to me! You're way prettier than anything they sell around here, even the Gold House. THOSE ones don't cry enough."  
The prince puffed himself up then, gesturing proudly to his chest.  
"Haha, that sounds a bit scary, doesn't it? You're scared now, right? But don't worry, peon. I shall enjoy your tears, but I shall use only the pleasure of my flesh to draw them forth."  
The blond’s face twisted in horror and disgust, and he shuddered in the other’s arms, promptly buring his face against Luke and sobbing at the memory that the boy’s face put back in his mind.  
At the sudden shoving of Alphonse's face against his chest Luke stirred, one blue eye sliding blearily open. Ezekiel, meanwhile, continued prattling.  
"Do not cry, little one. I shall be a gentle and discerning master. I will--"  
"Shut up."  
Ezekiel gaped. No one but his uncle had spoken to him in such a way in years, much less a lowly SLAVE. Luke simply continued to frown at him, adjusting his hold on Alphonse as he did so, rubbing his back through his soaked shirt.  
"Wha... what did you say?!"  
"Shut up, and go away. Please."  
"You arrogant FILTH! How dare you speak to me that way! How DARE you! I'm going to buy you too, just so I can have you put to death like the miserable dog you are! But you know what I'm going to do BEFORE that? I'm going to touch your friend's fine ass! Because I'm the prince and I can and I want to--"  
Ezekiel reached forward. Luke lunged. The tiny prince shrilled and jerked away just as the chain on Luke's wrist caught, the priest's punch arrested mid-blow. Still the blonde did not relent, standing between the noble and the slave, glaring.  
The prince remained on the floor, blubbering, for several moments longer. But then he was up again, jumping around just outside of Luke's reach, yammering on.  
"HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU YOU'RE SO DEAD HOW DARE YOU--"  
“How dare you!” Another voice, an older boy striding briskly towards them. Luke grimaced; it wouldn’t be long before more servants came, perhaps held them down for the Prince to do with as he wished. The young man’s hand did not shoot for them, however, grabbed instead at the prince’s wrist and yanked him away from them.

“Prince Ezekiel you are the future Emperor—Lord and Protector of the land, and you dare terrorize even now your weakest subjects?!”  
"But but but he's hot and I NEEDDDDDD HIMMM--also peasants are SUPPOSED to make their lords happy, so there!"  
The boy's eyes widened, then, and he turned around to speak to his servant in a poorly concealed whisper.  
"Also don't worry, he will like it!"  
The other boy’s eyes narrowed further at his words.

“And why are they supposed to make you happy? Because you have the power to make them do it?”  
“Right!-“  
“Wrong! The reason you have power is so you can help those who don’t! Power is a responsibility, not a privilege!”  
“Well my uncle says otherwise and HE’s the emperor!” The servant closed his eyes and sighed, his next words nothing but a hissed whisper.  
“Don’t even get me started on your uncle” With that, however, his attention turned to the two chained slaves, his expression softening as he gazed at them. The prince gaped as he bowed towards them.  
“I’m sorry for any trouble he’s caused you, the prince should go back to his studies now, and I will go back to keeping an eye on him” With that he turned away and left, dragging the screeching princeling behind him as well as hissing back at him.  
“Don’t you touch me! I know where your hands have been!”  
Luke stared the entire time the two passed down the corridor, the little tyrant wailing but not putting up any real resistance against his servant. It wasn't until disbelief turned to a tired smile that he allowed his stiff posture to relax.  
Ah, that was right; there were still good people in the world. He had nearly forgotten.  
Thank you.  
Alphonse had hidden behind him when he stood, but when he settled back against the wall the boy immediately grabbed on to him again. Luke patted his shoulder gently.  
"It's alright, Alphonse, he's gone."

It hadn’t taken long for the boy to go limp against him once more, falling into a broken slumber as he whimpered and shivered against the priest, and as such, Luke was the one to see the servant return.

This time, there were no traces of the prince, which was good, but even better was the fact that the servant was not empty handed. At first he could not believe it, but as the boy’s brown warm eyes settled on his, he smiled.

He paused a few feet away from them, just outside the range of his shackles, settling the tray down on the floor, and pushing it towards them carefully with a foot.

“I’m sorry about this, but I am not allowed to touch you or come too close, I believe. As a servant of the emperor on his castle, however, I am allowed to carry trays with food and leave them on…places” With that he took a step back.  
There were two bowls of thick soup on the tray, as well as a pitcher with water, and a towel.  
“You were one of the sick ones from the other night. The soup will sit better with your stomach; it’s what all the others have been given. When you are done please put everything behind that potted plant. I’ll retrieve it once you have departed.” The boy did not stare at them for long. His expression soon saddened, and with one last nod, he turned and walked away.  
"W-wait, please."  
The boy paused in his stride, and for a second simply stood there, but then he turned slightly to regard the young man who had called for him.  
Luke was startled to find his next words were hard to articulate. They stuck in his throat, not out of reluctance to speak, but because he had to choke down the wave of emotion that threatened to force itself out along with them. When he finally managed, the sounds came out faltering but earnest.  
"Thank you. It has been many moons since we have been shown such kindness. I was beginning to forget such a thing even existed."  
The boy grimaced in answer to his words, eyes tracing down towards the floor.  
“Please don’t thank me, this is nothing…there is nothing I can do to help you…I’m sorry” With that he turned and left, his pace brisk as he did so.

Wait! Don't go! You can help us--you're a servant, you must know where the keys are, all you have to do is let us go and I'll do the rest I'll run and run and run until they can never find me, I'll be free, please please please please PLEASE  
Luke ground his teeth together hard and blank eyes fixated on the floor, unseeing, even before the tears came. It would be unjust, asking the servant to ruin his life to save theirs. Or would it? Two lives for one, a trade he'd have been happy to make, surely--  
He pressed his palm hard into his forehead, forcing the tears away and making his shuddering breath go still. No. He would not ask it for his sake. But he would not blame Alphonse if he did.  
It was a few moments after even that that Luke felt stable enough to move again, raw desperation giving way to dull resignation once more. He would have liked to let Alphonse sleep longer--every moment outside of this hell was precious--but the fear of discovery was too great. If the boy was going to get soup and a cleaning, he was going to have to do so now. Luke shook the smaller blonde's shoulders gently.  
"Wake up, Alphonse, there's soup."  
The boy stirred at his touch, waking up with a broken whimper. Even after he woke, he didn’t immediately open his eyes. There was nothing he wanted to see, he figured. Then the smell of the food reached him, and the boy opened his eyes with a shiver.

Alphonse didn’t ask who had brought it or why, instead he reached out and took one of the bowls, began hungrily drinking, pressing the bowl to his lips and gulping down instead of downing it spoonful after spoonful. Months as Raphael’s servants had taught him to eat whenever he had the chance. He never knew when the man decided to starve him again.

Raphael had thought of his two older slaves many times during the preceding day. His thoughts had not been benevolent.  
Anger had been the most prominent, anger at having spared Luke, anger at Alphonse for ruining his most blessed of dreams. Only as the hours wore on and the beating rain chilled the air did he finally feel some--admittedly reserved--feelings of remorse. No food for his slaves that day, and no water save what the gods were giving them, but that would be enough.  
He rubbed a weary hand into his forehead and tried not to reflect on how any hopes of getting Alphonse to love him had probably been burned many times over.  
At least there were a few bright things to keep his spirits up.  
Getting the emperor's 'forgiveness' (or at least a greater degree of tolerance) had been lovely, but it was his new, tinier slave who really made the day bearable. Unfortunately the boy was still too weak to sate his full lusts, but simply being able to touch and hold and pet him did much to soothe his nerves. Even after the abuses he had suffered, what he'd been told were many days spent under the burning sun after he'd come into his previous master's possession, his skin was still warm and soft where it was unmarked.  
His talks had also revealed the boy was a "jewel"--a whore specifically bred and trained for such purposes by one of five such high houses scattered throughout the country. He had not come from the Golden House--the highest quality of the five--but the one he had come from still would have ensured his price far exceeded even Alphonse's, if he'd bought him in the conventional way. Lucky indeed that he'd gotten him as he did! Apparently the other man had gotten him by killing his original master. Prince seemed reluctant to answer questions about that man, despite Raphael's curiousity, and so eventually the warlord let the matter drop.  
When Raphael awoke the following day, however, he decided to be more insistent... in a different matter.  
The morning had brought his manhood to attention, and as he stretched and licked his lips, Raphael decided he wanted to keep it that way. His little slave was still curled up asleep beside him. It would take quite a few weeks of feeding to bring him back to proper size and health, but two days of food and rest had already firmly secured his life; he was much more robust now, color back in his skin and eyes no longer dull. Well enough for just a little playing.  
The warlord ducked his head down, nuzzling Prince before he began to gently kiss his lips.  
"Wake up, little one. I have need of you."  
The nature of this need was made evident as Raphael's rough fingers slipped between the boy's soft thighs, cupping his tiny shaft and beginning to rub.  
His slave woke up moaning, skin flushing as his manhood began rapidly perking up at his master’s attentions. His fingers curled against the bed sheets as he wriggled and twisted softly, instinctively pushing his hips against the man’s caresses. His eyes opened and he looked up at him, breathing rapid.

“A-ah Master…M-master Raphael…how may I---ngggh….s-serve you—Aaah! Master…i-it feels so good Master”! The little thing cried out weakly, his naked body wriggling sensually by his side against the silks beneath him, his manhood now completely rigid n the warlord’s fingers. Ah, he would look and sound much more beautiful when the bells and rings chimed with each little movement of his passion wracked body.  
The older man did not immediately answer. Instead he kissed his slave fondly, taking the boy's confused questions and delighted whimpers and muffling them, nibbling softly at those sweet lips as he rolled a thumb across the tip of Prince's hardness. But when he did pull back he gave a swift answer.  
"You told me you would be honored to taste my seed. Today you will have that honor."  
The excitement with which his pet reacted to that had to be artificial; no one was really that enthusiastic about sucking him, not even--that one in his smugness. Raphael was too focused on getting what he desired to be bothered by it, though--yet, much to his slave's surprise, the man stopped him when the bubbling little creature would have dove between his legs.  
Laying Prince carefully on his back, his master straddled him as he pulled off his night robes, tossing them away from the cushions. When he finished he did not slide up to crouch over the boy's face, but rather twisted around, balancing on hands and knees while his arousal bobbed above his slave's lips. His own mouth, in turn, hovered over Prince's; he smiled at the young blonde from between his legs.  
"And, as a kind master, I will repay your obedience."  
His tongue flicked out, ever so lightly running over the head of the boy's member.  
The boy shivered at his touch, but the expression of pure bliss on his face had given way to one of worried determination as he stared intently at the manhood before him.

Oh no, it would not be an easy task, to please his master to the best of his ability even while he was distracted by pleasure. First impressions were important! More over, his Master knew he was a jewel now, would probably expect only the best from him—as he should.

A small whimper left the boy as the warlord lapped at his already erect manhood once more, perhaps reminding him that he had a task at hand, and so without further hesitation, the boy’s hands came to rest against his master’s thighs, bracing him as he craned his neck forward.

At first the blond began with nuzzling, his soft warm skin feeling pleasant against his crotch, breath tickling his skin, but he moved rapidly from that. Raphael felt his warm tongue settling against the tip of his manhood, tracing circles over the head before it firmly moved all the way through the underside of his cock, the boy only pausing when he had sampled his taste all the way to the man’s sacs heavy with his seed.

With that the boy pulled back, licked his lips, and then moved forward again. The boy’s next movements weren’t as thorough, but they were far more pleasant. The warlord atop him shivered and groaned as Prince’s wet tongue pressed and teased against the most sensitive parts of his cock, pressing his mouth and suckling, nipping gently at him in ways that sent shiver after shiver travel down his spine. And then finally, the boy took him into his mouth. He began with the tip of him, letting out a muffled little moan of delight at his taste as he suckled hungrily, drawing forth more and more of his flesh into him with each suckle.  
The ripple that ran through his master's flesh was noticed even by the busy little boy beneath him. Raphael's stance shifted, strong legs moving to brace his curling toes against the floor, Prince giving no complaint but happily chasing the warlord's moving cock upwards, throat working and working and--  
"F-ff-fuck!"  
At that the slave paused, peeping anxiously down at the older man. Raphael's eyes pulled open in alarm then, face flushed, and his voice was a bit more shaky than authorative when he spoke.  
"Don't s-stop!"  
Prince was more than happy to comply; with an excited squeak he was at it again, finding the most vulnerable spots of his master's manhood with professional efficiency, doing such THINGS with his deft little mouth--  
Hahh, hahhh, hahh--he'd heard many times how well trained they were, how their ability to give their lords pleasure was the only thing that rivalled their beauty, how worthy they were to be called jewels. But he was no fledgeling when it came to the delights of the flesh, and while he'd expected the experience to be lovely, he hadn't figured on anything much beyond what he'd already encountered. Apparently he had been dead wrong. The boy was everything wonderful in one--Alphonse's sounds, Lucian's ferocity, the skill and expertise of that flame-haired female pirate he'd encountered in the southeast.  
It took him quite a few moments to realize, uncomfortably, that his slave was putting up a much better show than himself--and that he was failing in his promise. He gasped hard for breath, shivering as the boy suckled up the first drippings of his coming release, and then threw himself into his task. Sinking to knees and elbows--a motion Prince moved with as if it was rehearsed--his hands closed over the soft mounds of the boy's rear, curling his body up towards him and taking his shaft into his mouth in one voracious motion. There was no finesse in his movements, the lord too distracted for technique, but the raw power with which he began to suck and tease that sweet little member more than made up for it.  
By the time he had taken the boy’s manhood into his mouth, his very own shaft was all the way inside of Prince’s own. The boy tensed at his touch, his caresses faltering for one second, and then without relenting the treat in his mouth, the boy began letting out muffled little moans and shivering. And ah, the ay it felt, being tightly enveloped on the blonde’s tight throat while it vibrated and caressed him with his cries!

The boy’s tempo slowed considerable at the distraction of his master’s caresses. The boy might have an ability to pleasure far better than anyone he had ever met, but he was still a sweet little thing, and despite his numerous masters and abuses, his body responded wonderfully to his touches.  
Even then, the boy never paused on his suckling, moaning around the warlord’s cock as he sucked it hungrily, drawing him in and out of him again and again and—He did pause then, as Raphael’s suckles finally drew release from him, arching and crying out as the warlord tasted the sweetness of his seed. Raphael grinned in satisfaction—and then moaned himself, some of the boy’s cum managing to slip past his lips as Prince began suckling him with renewed vigor while still in the midst of his release, going for the most sensitive parts of his cock.  
Raphael groaned as his own climax overtook his body while the blond drew back ever so slightly, holding onto the tip of his manhood with his lips as he kept suckling, taking all of his master’s seed into his mouth and thoroughly tasting it before he slowly swallowed, letting out a delighted little hum as he did so. He did not let go until he had drawn the last drop of cum from his master’s cock, and then gave it one last loving lick before addressing his master.  
“T-Thank you very much Master…your seed was wonderful~”  
"As was yours."  
Ah, wait, gods above--that was probably not the correct response from a master to his slave! Raphael felt far more flustered at that moment then he had in quite some time, coughing and looking up to hide the flush on his face. Jewels were, apparently, much more serious business than he'd reckoned on; the boy's efforts had left him shockingly rattled.  
And he was only a SILVER house slave? Those who could afford golds were some lucky fuckers indeed.  
The warlord wasn't one to waste time on what he didn't have when he could use what he did have, though. Excitedly his mind turned over all the things he would have the boy do, how much skill he might display in other areas, how lovely it would feel to ride his tender ass... ah, if only his fucking louse of a master hadn't mutilated him so! There was some time yet before he could--  
Raphael's face brightened. While that was true, the fun was far from over. He couldn't push Prince too far yet, and wouldn't try to, but he would have him perform one other service--on his other slave. Let them get to know each other physically, and relish seeing Alphonse surprised in the same way he had been! Surely if he had reacted so strongly the sweet other boy would have an absolute fit at the pleasure.  
One thing had to taken care of before he did that, however.  
Sliding at last off Prince, Raphael turned carefully around beside him, running a hand through the golden strands of his slave's hair.  
"Now roll over, Prince."  
The boy’s eyes widened visibly at that.

“R-roll….um….over—A-ah….yes Master, of course, sorry...” The boy had been smiling happily at him, but at his words fear had visually crept onto his face. He must have noticed so, because a moment later he had swiftly turned around, wincing slightly as he curled trembling fingers onto the sheets below, buried his face on one of the pillows and trembled.

“Please…u-use me as you see fit Master…”a small little whimper, the boy shivering even before he touched him, slightly raising his hips for his Master. After all, what other use would he have for him in this position, after he had serviced him in such a fashion?  
His lord's hand came to rest at his nape, only to glide slowly downwards along the spine, his slave's trembling becoming more noticeable as it progressed, no matter how he tried to suppress it. Jewels were taught many things, but a tolerance for any pain beyond occasional rough lovemaking was not one of them; no fool would spend so much money on a toy just to break it.  
Raphael's fingers stopped, sitting lightly, on the soft skin of the boy's bottom--and then he gave him a very gentle spank, smiling.  
"Relax, Prince, I'm not going to claim you."  
The small blonde went quite rigid at that--both out of shock and at the anxious realization that his discomfort had most certainly been noticed. His master got up then, heading over to the chest that contained his bags and withdrawing the familiar medical salve, the sight of which at last enticed Prince to relax. Well, mostly; he still whimpered and flinched as Raphael rubbed the ointment into his entrance, the application not feeling pleasant even if the effects it left after quite dulled the pain.  
"You seem to be healing well. I promise we won't make love until you're completely well, however, so you needn't be frightened. Still, I may ask occassional favors of you in the meantime, and I might ask one more now. So tell me, Prince,"  
The man turned towards the door, grinning, before looking back down at the boy.  
"Would you like to taste your brother Alphonse's seed, too?"  
The boy’s eyes widened yet again, but this time his face took on a flustered look.

“O-oh Master I…I would never dream of anyone but you Master! Your seed is all the nourishment I need! But…if it is your will, I will do as you say!” His master didn’t seem quite pleased at his words, and so the boy looked down, whimpering softly and going ever redder.

“B-but…if I may be allowed to say…Alphonse is so beautiful…of course Master would only have the finest things…” And then with that, he raised his eyes to look at him, for a moment forgetting his reservations as he spoke with an avid curiosity.

“Is he from the Golden House Master? Is that where you got him? Did you save him as well? I have never seen any Golden Jewels…but I think they would look as beautiful as him! He looks so…precious and composed and refined and…tantalizing…” His eyes had gone glazy as his thoughts drifted away, the boy’s skin red and warm.  
Raphael couldn't help but laugh. No matter how his obedient new servant tried to hide it, Prince's reverence--and desire--for Alphonse was painfully obvious, from the gentle heat spreading across his body to the half-raised little flag between his legs. The blonde stuttered and looked down at the sound, but brightened again when his master responded with caresses rather than chatisement for his disloyalty.  
"No, he's not from the Golden House--or from any house. I--"  
Stole him and enslaved him.  
The warlord's sudden pause confused Prince. It confused Raphael greatly as well. Where on earth had that thought come from? That wasn't... ridiculous. He had done the boy a favor, had known so from the start, and he would swear by it now.  
"--I bought him from a goblin auction. Many of the other bidders were monsters who would have crippled or killed him for their own merriment. I saved him from that, but he doesn't appreciate it, as you've probably noticed."  
The words came out flatter and less self-assured than the man would have liked, his brow furrowing. What in the hells was wrong with him? What was this sudden unpleasant feeling? Guilt? Why? He had been so kind to Alphonse, offered him a life of luxury for no price but his love, and he truly had saved him. Lucian would never have used his power in such a way. He would have tortured him. Thus, he was the righteous one, merciful and patient with his strength. It was so. It had to be so. Yet he felt suddenly, strangely, unexplicably doubtful.  
"...But perhaps I made that offer too soon, Prince. I was very... angry at your brother a few days past, and I might have punished him too severely. If he's hurt, you'll have to wait until he's better, just as I will wait for you. Would you like to join me in checking on him, though?"  
As the boy's name left his lips, Raphael realized with sudden disbelief that HE was the cause of it. His outrage at Alphonse for not being so perfect, and now that uncomfortable feeling when the blonde looked up at him, face filled with awe and love at the kindness of his master. Something about him asking if he'd saved Alphonse...  
What a bizarre week. The city's stench had to be addling his senses. Things would soon get back to normal, he was sure, once they'd left the damned place for the open country again.  
The boy smiled at him and bowed—his body now strong enough to do so without struggling.

“Of course Master, your kindness knows no bounds” Forehead pressed against the floor, Raphael couldn’t see the way the boy’s smile’s had vanished.

Ah, yes, his Master could be very loving and dotting, as long as he obeyed, and he had almost forgotten…but he remembered now, the way the other boy’s screams had echoed back to him from far away, seemingly with no end. And then they had ended. His master had returned a minute later and laid beside him without speaking a word, drawing his body close to the warm expanse of his sweat covered body.

What had he done to him?  
Raphael had no notion of his slave's true thoughts, and that might have been a fact even if Prince hadn't been so carefully concealing his face. The warlord's own thoughts were far away, a calloused hand reaching out to absently pet the boy's silky hair as he mused, the madness of the week turned over and over in his mind.  
Finally he sighed, getting to his feet and helping his slave up a moment later, heading for the door.

The bowls of soup had been downed and, more than that, their hurts had been cleaned. Luke had tended to Alphonse's wounds before his own, wincing at the ugly bruise along his side and doing his best to clean the dirt off his battered body and bloody fingers. When that was done he'd used what few clean surfaces the cloth had left to clean himself. Unfortunately, though, neither of their greatest hurts could be mended by bathing; both the boy's ribs and his own were likely fractured, and their clothing was still cold and wet against their skin. But there was nothing to be done about it, and so Luke had instead followed the other's lead and lapsed back into sleep, Alphonse whimpering through his nightmares beside him.  
The door beside them had opened then and Luke's eyes with it. The priest took a single look at the warlord before he twisted away, cowering, tucking Alphonse as much beneath himself as he could--protective to the last.  
It was an unusual display from the normally stoic slave, one of Raphael's eyebrows quirking upwards at the sight. But then he was moving, pushing Luke back with less force than he would normally have used, lifting Alphonse's shirt (Luke's, rather--one of the reasons he'd shown restraint) and eyeing the ugly marks. To the equal surprise of both himself and his servant he then looked over the other blonde's, larger and uglier on account of multiple blows.  
"You were a good servant, looking after Alphonse as you did. You will be repaid accordingly."  
Luke said nothing as Raphael loosened their chains, but he was grateful when the warlord let him carry Alphonse's limp form inside. He had not expected such restraint from the monster.  
The master gave all three of his slaves one more good looking over then, once they were all inside and settled on the pillows. It was too early for food to be coming on its own, and his medical supplies were not well tasked for what he had to mend. Accordingly he turned and left to fetch a fix for both--leaving his possessions to become better acquainted in the meanwhile.  
Alphonse had awoken when the warlord had pushed Luke off of him, but in response he had only clung all the more to the other blond and let out a few pitiful whimpers. Then Luke had carried him inside, and he had closed his eyes shut. He would have rather stayed outside…  
But then, against all odds, the warlord left, without touching him again. He opened his eyes again and a pair of blue ones peered back at him.  
“Hello Alphonse! My name is Prince! Do you remember me? I’m so glad we are going to be brothers from now on! You are so beautiful and amazing and—“  
Alphonse glared at the boy for a brief moment before sinking all the closer to Luke once more, burying his face against the older boy’s chest and shuddering. At that moment Prince paused on his ranting, and his eyes turned to Luke instead, as if noticing him for the first time.  
“O-oh…I’m sorry…hi my name is Prince, are you going to be my brother too?”  
Luke's interactions with Prince had been extremely limited; a few quick glimpses of the boy in the warlord's arms, and then he'd been locked outside the room, oblivious to whatever new horrors the warlord was inflicting. He had imagined a variety of personalities and miseries for the newcomer, but he certainly had not imagined... this, bright eyes and eagerness.  
"I... don't think so."  
I hope not.  
"My name is Luke. Alphonse and I are from the northern greenlands, but we were captured by... goblins, I think they're called, and sold into this. Where are you from?"  
When he’d first spoken, the boy’s eyes had widened with confusion and then worry. If he wasn’t his brother…was he perhaps a free servant? Even if he wasn’t his master, Prince wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone who wasn’t a slave like him so freely. At least, not unless his master approved…  
As the priest kept on speaking, however, then boy relaxed for a moment, only to seem confused again. So, Luke was also a slave…but he wasn’t his brother? Although the older boy was in no way as pretty as Alphonse, he was still very handsome, so it made no sense that his master hadn’t claimed him….oh well, maybe Master was very picky, maybe he preferred them young…he hoped not. He wouldn’t be young forever.  
“Um…I-I’m from the Silver House! Although…Master Raphael saved me from my previous master—you guys are so lucky! I’ve heard horrible things from the goblin market but Master Raphael got to you before anyone else could! And he’s so rich and handsome and kind and—“ Alphonse’s screams echoed back into his mind, and the boy stiffened, the smile vanishing from his lips as he looked down.  
“…I…I-I’m sorry….I meant….he’s very kind to me…I’m glad he found me and…and at least we have each other to talk to now…I’d never had friends since I left the Silver House…”  
Glad? Lucky? Kind?  
When Prince lifted his face again he found the servant--no, slave--giving him a very strange look. The boy's enthusiasm had already died down upon remembering the noises of two nights prior, and it decreased now further still, the little blonde looking away again and fidgeting.  
Luke continued staring, trying to understand. The Silver House? He had heard something about "precious houses" during his imprisonment, soldiers sharing fantasies about "golden jewels," others bragging that they had saved up enough to buy "brasses." From this he had guessed it was some type of slave auction house, but that still didn't explain the boy's enthusiasm. Was that why slaves from there were in such demand? Were they all insane?  
Pity stirred in his heart, but shortly after logic told him the blonde was better off. Ignorant bliss was, perhaps, preferable to understanding and suffering.  
The priest finally looked away, focusing instead on the boy pressed against him. He debated asking if he wanted to pull off his wet shirt, but thought better of it; if Raphael was planning to feed them, he'd likely dry and clothe them as well, and dressing without his permission might earn them both beatings and savagery where a few minutes' patience would earn them meals and warmth.  
That momentary distraction gave him time to regain his thoughts, and he addressed Prince again then, aware that the boy had fallen into uncomfortable silence after his lack of answer.  
"That's true, Prince. New people to talk to are always welcome, and I'm glad you find things better for you now then they were before. Although, I must ask--what is the "Silver House," exactly? I've heard a bit about them, but I still don't really understand what they are..."

The young boy cheered right up at that, gasping in delight and perking up, leaning forward as he spoke. For a moment it looked like he would jump at him and snuggle against him and Alphonse, but he caught the boy’s eyes straying to his bruised body and moving slightly back in answer. Even then, his enthusiasm didn’t falter.  
“You don’t know? That’s weird! The Silver House is the second biggest house of pleasure!—I didn’t really live my whole life there though, me and all my friends were kept in the storage house until we were like nine, then they moved us to the training grounds, and so I only lived there for about a year, until my first Master bought me!” Luke could barely believe the enthusiasm with which the boy spoke of his captivity—nine years old? Had he been there since birth? He had little time to ponder over this as the boy began cheerfully speaking of the horrors that his ‘training’ entailed.  
He had just been a boy when they made him learned that his life meant nothing but entertainment for another, that his body was but a tool to please whoever paid his owners the right price. He was methodically trained to perform the very same disgusting acts that him and Alphonse had been forced to do by others, and he had been taught to love it. Even before he had been bought, he had been touched and made to touch, all for the benefit of those who did not have a care in the world for him except for the coin he would get them. And while he told him all of this, the smile never wavered on the boy’s face.  
“Shut up”  
“…um…w-what?”  
“I said shut up, we don’t want to hear how you became such a stupid whore you are, all you’re good at is sucking dicks, so if you’re not busy doing that, keep your mouth shut” That was a hiss from Alphonse, the boy glaring hatefully at the smaller blond from the protection of Luke’s arms. Prince went quiet and shuddered, tears beading at his eyes as he began sobbing.  
That was when Luke grabbed him.  
The contact Prince had so longed for was initiated, much to his surprise, by someone other than himself; the boy found himself in a warm embrace, the priest holding them both close, head hung.  
"I am... so, so sorry..."  
It was a struggle to keep his voice from breaking. Yet what could he say? How could he explain how wrong it all was, how much sweeter a life of freedom could be, when the boy would never know it?  
Ah. He'd said it. /Never./  
The lie he'd told himself and Alphonse shattered. There would be no escape. This twisted hell into which they'd landed, so different from their world, did not have stories of light and heroes. It had only suffering and darkness, and they would never be free of it.  
So maybe it was better for him not to know.  
Despite himself Luke joined the other two in weeping. That was when the door parted, Raphael stepping in with a tray laden with food and ice. It was ill timing.  
Prince and Alphonse found themselves suddenly on the floor, Luke screaming as he charged the warlord. Both the tray and the servant hit the ground a second later, Raphael deflecting the blow without thought, staring in alarm at his usually passive slave.  
Luke tried to lunge--was struck down, tried again--was thrown back once more. He didn't bother getting up a third time, simply continued to scream from where he lay, angry tears coursing down his cheeks.  
"You sick BASTARD! You claim justice while raping the weak and mutilating them when they dare resist; why don't you try changing places with your slaves, and see how merciful you deem yourself then?!"  
Raphael's answer was a very low hiss. Luke fell quiet as the man approached, simply glaring. The warlord was carrying no apparent weapon, but not a single person in that room had any doubts that he couldn't still kill.  
Yet.  
The white haired man's eyes flickered from one slave to the rest. Prince and Alphonse had remained quite still where they'd been set down, simply staring. Alphonse had seen enough to not look surprised. Prince--despite his efforts to hide it--looked afraid.  
"...Eat, dress, and then sleep. I am in no mood to squabble with any more fools than I already have today."  
And with that the warlord crossed to his bed, laid in it, and ceased to pay any attention to them, simply rubbing irately at a knot in his brow.  
Luke remained quite still. The food and ice the warlord had brought remained where they'd fallen on the floor--mixed in with a previously unnoticed set of fresh servant's clothes, about Luke's size.  
For a moment, none of his slaves really moved, merely continued to stare silently at him. When the warlord gave no further orders or moved to grab any of them, they were soon in motion. Alphonse and Prince gathered their clothes from one of the chests, with the older boy barely resisting the urge to shove the other one away.  
With that, Alphonse moved over to where the ice laid sprawled across the floor, gathered it in a piece of cloth and then moved over to Luke, wordlessly pressing it against one of the nastier looking bruises on the priest’s sides.

Prince dressed as well, and ate some of the food from the floor only because his master had ordered him to eat. When he considered he’d had enough, he turned to look at Alphonse and Luke, then whimpered and moved closer to his Master, bowing to him by the side of his bed.  
“M-master may I…may I please rest by your side?”  
Raphael said nothing, and a slow thrill of fear crept up into Prince's heart. He hadn't done anything, master couldn't be mad, so why--well, no, he'd been in Luke's arms when the man had returned, maybe that had angered him. All too fresh memories of the one he'd served just a few days before crept into his mind, the terror of pain--  
The warlord stretched out an arm, snagging the smaller boy and dragging him down into bed with him, wrapping him in a warm embrace. The previous nights he had held his little slave tightly, as if he were a stuffed toy to ease his sleep, but now he held him with the tender care of a lover. He nuzzled the boy's forehead, sighed to himself, and proceeded chasing after slumber.  
If only they were like you...  
Or, was that not what he wanted?  
He didn't know any more.  
The boy stared up at his master’s sleeping face before smiling. His master seemed to be very pleased with him, and despite how scary he could be at times, he could also be so kind. Prince nuzzled his way closer to Raphael, tucking his head gently beneath the warlord’s chin as he clung to him and closed his eyes, letting himself fall asleep by his sides, not a single worry bothering his mind.

Luke flinched at the sudden cold, but soon enough it was a merciful numbness compared to the previous deep ache. He gave Alphonse a stiff little nod of thanks before his eyes shifted to the rest of the food. Normally he would have leapt on it, but between soup and sickness he'd had about as much as his stomach could handle already... and, more than that, he'd suddenly begun to consider the benefits of starving.  
His fingers moved to the cold little packet, freeing Alphonse's need to hold it.  
"You should use some, too."  
The boy ignored him, instead silently moving towards the food. He gathered what had fallen on the floor back onto the plate, and then ate half of it as hungrily as if he hadn’t eaten earlier at all. Unlike Luke, he knew there were no benefits to starving. The man would never let them go—or well, not him at least. With that, he left the plate on the floor and stood. Instead of crawling back into Luke’s arms, however, he moved towards one of the corners of the room, curling down against the floor with his back turned to the warlord, one of his hands coming to rest gently against the hurt at his side.  
What a strange sight they would have made to an outsider; the master and his slave curled up so sweetly, a wounded servant lying still, a boy in fine dress pretending he could hide.  
One by one the rise of soft breaths showed who had drifted off to sleep, the monster and his toy first, then Alphonse soon after. But Luke remained all too conscious. This was not the first time the horror of his reality had bitten into him, but it was the first time he had begun to truly believe it was the end.  
With an effort Luke pulled himself to his feet, shedding his filthy clothes for the new set he'd been brought and picking up what of the food he felt could rest in his stomach. Watching Alphonse eating had reminded him of the reality--that there would be no starvation, simply a choice between eating by will or being fed by force. The same was true of Alphonse's wounds. There was no point in him suffering more than he already had.  
Luke's devotion to his faith was not some idle thing, a belief to be discarded when life went to hell. Rather it was the one light he had left--the belief that he was there for a reason, even if that reason was no more than to provide some small comforts to those who suffered by his side.  
Alphonse stirred only a little when the cold ice touched his side, shivering before falling into a deeper sleep. Luke remained quietly beside him, his own eyes closed, but it was some hours before he found his own escape.


	4. Chapter 4

There had been a... complication.  
The Emperor, as it seemed, was not yet content with the terms of his warlord's apology. He had asked for one thing more.  
A GIFT, he had called it.  
Raphael had thought of his people, and of the price, and he had paid it. But someday--someday soon--he would have no more need of this alliance, and he would remember what had been asked.  
And repay it, in full.

Alphonse's side throbbed with pain, and at the sight of the warlord's sour face he it seemed to hurt even more.  
A pair of soldiers followed behind him, not looking much happier. But instead of going into his chambers, they paused before him and Luke. The older boy did his best to try and hide him, but it was not much.  
For a moment, the three men just stood before them, the soldiers waiting for Raphael to move, while the man glared at him--no, past him, with more hatred than he'd ever seen in his life.  
He closed his eyes, whimpered and buried his face against Luke.  
"...The emperor is waiting..." One of the two soldiers finally prodded.  
Raphael growled, looking away from Alphonse and at his surroundings, weighting his options for a moment before he moved forward, pulling a key from his pocket and unlocking his chains. Despite his sobs and Luke's protests, he was easily pried away.  
"Alphonse...go with them and do as you are told" he hissed through gritted teeth.  
The boy stood still for a moment, naked and trembling and gingerly cradling his wounded side. One of the guards looked at him for a moment before speaking.  
"Follow me"  
With that the man turned and began walking, and with one last glance at Raphael, the boy followed, struggling to keep up while the second soldier walked behind him.  
He was taken deeper inside the castle than before, to rooms he had not seen before.  
Here another pair pf servants waited for him, and as he was walked into this room they grabbed him and bathed him, brushed his hair, sprayed perfume on him, powdered the nasty bruise on his side until it was barely visible, and dressed him in thin golden silks.  
With that done, he was told to follow the guard again, which he did. They returned to that familiar path, the one that led to the snake carved door.  
There they paused, with one of the guards telling him to straighten himself up before they opened the door and went inside. As they walked forward, Alphonse's eyes strayed downwards.  
The two soldiers bowed before their lord, announcing his arrival, and he two knelt and bowed as he had done when he had first walked in with Raphael.  
The man before him--the emperor--didn't even bother looking up. He was seated on his throne with a wide array of papers scattered across a small table before him, a faint frown on his face as he ruffled from one sheet to the next. The commotion last night was going to require a lot of paperwork; complaints to be reviewed, families to be compensated, treaties to be revisited. All in all a great deal of trouble from which he needed a break.  
And yet time dragged on. A good ten minutes passed, the ache in Alphonse's side growing ever stronger, before he was addressed.  
"Your master has caused me a good deal of trouble. For his sake, and yours, I pray you do not do the same."  
Finally those cold green eyes looked up, every bit as vicious as Raphael's.  
"Come to me."  
He'd suspected the purpose of his visit before, especially when he had been made to clean up the before meeting the emperor, yet still he had hoped...for what?  
A break.  
A small respite in his misery.  
So this had been the motive of Raphael's sour mood. His anger--for once, had not been directed at him.  
Throughout their journey, they had met with many men, and he had seen in their eyes the same hunger that Raphael's held. Some of them had even insinuated jokingly that the warlord shared. Raphael never had, and for that he was grateful. But finally he had met the one man with enough authority to force Raphael to share him.  
He'd always thought that when the moment came, he would be horrified, beg and struggle, be even more disgusted with himself and those around him. But at the moment he felt...nothing.  
He supposed that after what Raphael had done to him the day before, dragged him to that garden, to that tree...He winced even as he began walking forward, doing as commanded. No, compared to what the warlord had done, this was nothing.  
The boy stood before him like a gilded present, neatly wrapped in golden lace. Asmodeus made no attempt to hide the movements of his eyes, examining him closely, taking in that sweet flesh.  
"I wonder how many have lusted over you while dreaming of women. No wonder your lord is so fond of you."  
Alphonse couldn't hide a frown at that, which prompted the emperor to laugh.  
"Pay no mind to it. The gods know my nephew is even worse."  
At the remembrance of his nephew, Alphonse's mind went instantly back to the garden, to cruel hands and beads, to pleading for help while a pervert watched. So distracted was he that it quite startled him to find the emperor leaning in, towards his lips--  
\--or not. The man's face found his hair, pressed softly against it, breathing. It was a more tender gesture than Raphael had ever made.  
"Like wildflowers. Such a familiar smell..."  
Now it was the emperors mind that drifted elsewhere, but not long. He had trained himself not to dwell on it. In fact, the greater part of the reason he had begun taking young boys to bed was to help him not dwell on it.  
He straightened with a grimace, then settled back into his throne again, eyes once more cold.  
"I daresay your master has taught you how to suck cock. Begin."  
For a moment Alphonse stood dazedly there his chest aching at the memories. But then he caught a glimpse of the emperor's impatient green eyes, and he moved forward.  
He said nothing as he knelt before the man, carefully, very careful not to jolt his injured side. With that he reached forward, his face a blank mask, not showing fear or misery or disgust, simply staring forward as he undid the man's pants.  
What a disgusting man. Did he not have a thousand servants who could drive the same for him?  
His cock was soft still, and he had to move closer in order to begin pleasing him, giving it a few strokes with his hands and then holding it still as he moved forward to lick this way and that. It was different from servicing Raphael.  
The warlord would have been hard long before he touched his pants, but the emperor remained soft even after he had touched him, slowly hardening at his licks. As soon as he was hard enough, he took him into his mouth and began suckling--harshly. He wanted to be done already.  
The emperor's voice rose to a snarl.  
"Not like that!"  
His hair was grabbed--although not as harshly as it might have been--his head held back.  
"Any whore can suck a cock like that. But you're no common whore, are you? Act the jewel you are."  
He released him then, settling back anew with a snort of contempt. Typical of the warlord--finally forced to share his treasure, and he sent along a piece that was less than perfect. Ignoble bastard.  
"Slowly--gently--as if we were lovers. Let me remember..."  
The emperors eyes slowly closed, and he breathed deep, intoxicated by the nostalgia of that scent.  
Alphonse shuddered. A lover? A jewel? These men were all the same. The same filthy heap of disgusting trash. He took a deep breath, calmed himself.  
"Yes lord emperor Asmodeus" he said, his voice edging on a hiss.  
Before the man could speak again, he grabbed his cock, thought of Raphael, and glared at it. So despite their differences, it would be the same as with the warlord.  
He leaned in and nuzzled and kissed, the emperor letting out a pleased murmur. His hand began stroking as he licked the tip of his shaft, tracing circles over it with his tongue.  
It took him several minutes of teasing--far more than with Raphael- to get him fully erect, and only then did he finally take him into his mouth, began suckling at the tip of him while slowly drawing in more and more of him. He drew back once he'd pulled in enough, only to slowly advance again.  
When his face buried itself against the man's crotch, his entire manhood cradled inside him, his hands dropped lower, to stroke and massage the emperor's balls beneath. Alphonse swallowed, even when the man hadn't released, and that sent both his mouth and throat constricting around Asmodeus' cock.  
The emperor seemed more than pleased with his efforts. He sighed in pleasure, only to groan more deeply as the boy's efforts grew yet stronger, his back arching in a slow curve like an old cat's. Gently his hips began to twitch against the boy's lips, rocking back and forth, making love to his mouth.  
Alphonse waited for his release. And waited. And waited longer still until finally the hot seed spurted out. It had taken much longer than Raphael would have.  
The emperor is getting old, Alphonse thought, contemptuously, even as he suckled softly to ease the man in his release.  
When it was finished Alphonse dropped back into a respectful crouch, until Asmodeus ushered him to his feet and removed his clothes. They had been artfully arranged, little more than a firm tug needed to send the whole thing cascading like silken rain down his skin and to the floor. Asmodeus admired him quietly a moment longer before leaning forward, kissing his shoulder softly, while one hand caressed his side.  
"Do you need preparation, or are you ready?"  
For the first time then he felt The boy stiffen in his hold, trembling.  
"I-I...is there any...salve?" The blond's voice had been cold and angry before, but now it wavered, sounded more fitting for the weak little thing that he was, trembling in his hold and at his caresses, biting down on his lip as he closed his eyes shut, his breathing slightly labored.  
Asmodeus didn't answer; Alphonse wondered if he was thinking what a pathetic slave he was, still needing ointment to--  
"What is wrong?"  
That was unexpected, but it sent anger instead of reassurance through the boy. Despite knowing it was stupid he glared up at the emperor then, lips curling into a hiss he never let out. Oh, there were a great deal of things wrong--  
Asmodeus made a face himself in return.  
"Don't try that. You're a trained slave, not a blushing bride. So what is it? ...Do you fear Raphael will punish you for this?"  
The words came out doubtful, Asmodeus looking at him all the more closely; he was in good shape, and Asmodeus couldn't imagine Raphael would break such a prized possession for something he'd had no say in, but what else would it be? Surely a sex slave as broken in as himself wasn't suddenly scared to take cock?  
Would Raphael...punish him? Maybe he would, he had looked so angry... The blond shuddered again.  
: In his attempt to look more closely at the boy, his hand had moved downwards, to his hips and away from his ribs. He let out a sigh of relief, more or less regaining his composture. Still, he looked down at the floor instead of the emperor.  
"My...master...always uses the salve...but it doesn't matter, no salve them. How will you take me?"  
Asmodeus, however, didn't seem to trust his answer. He continued to peer at him closely, wondering at the sudden change in his tone. Had he simply lost his nerve and then regained it? No, something else must be to blame.  
Well, if he wouldn't tell him, he couldn't help it. Putting it out of mind he reached into his robes, drawing a small vial from one of many concealed pockets. Alphonse took it before he could do anything with it, pouring the contents on to his slim hands and then working them thoroughly into the emperor's cock. Asmodeus watched those deft fingers work with wordless approval, then shifts forward when the boy was done.  
"I will take you on my lap. Come to me."  
He reached forward before the boy could move, taking him carefully by the sides--and there was no concealing the cry of pain Alphonse let loose then. Asmodeus paused and Alphonse paused with him, trembling. The emperor stared at him for a moment before running his fingers once more down his side, but this time so lightly that there was no hurt.  
"...You're injured. Raphael did this to you?"  
As the emperor had pulled him forward and pressed on his side, the blond had cried out and fell onto his lap, shuddering. With one hand, he carefully cradled his ribs, not bothering to look up at the emperor.  
"He was going to kill a friend and I...looked at him with envy...he was angry I didn't appreciate his kindness, and decided to take it back..."  
He drew a deep breath, straightening up on the older man's lap, turning over so that his back was pressed to the emperor's belly, his hard cock rubbing against his backside.  
"Will this be alright?"  
Asmodeus' answer was a slow hiss, but just as Alphonse's skin began to crawl he found out it wasn't directed towards him.  
"Only a fool buys such a prize just to break it."  
And then the emperor was silent again, motionless. As the seconds skunk by Alphonse wondered unhappily if the man expected him to do the work of impaling himself on his dick.  
"Stand."  
Alphonse hastily stood, and Asmodeus did shortly after, beckoning to the boy to follow him. Quite uncertain where this was going to lead, Alphonse drifted soundlessly behind the emperor as he stepped down a long corridor at the back of the throne room, one that was mercifully free of any staring eyes. A variety of fine art and jewels adorned the walls, but it was the magnificent fountain in the middle that was the truest sign of the emperor's wealth, the ability to squander precious water making far more of an impression than a mountain of gold would have.  
Asmodeus led him around this, and into a gilded bedroom. The fine furs on the bed and the ornately carved jewelry made clear it was the emperor's, yet it was a strange room all the same. Dark cloth covered the few frames that hung on the walls, giving it an abandoned feel, and the numerous book shelves laden with well thumbed tomes reminded Alphonse more of his own books, so far away, then the collection of an emperor.  
Asmodeus bid Alphonse to lay on the bed. Unsurprised in the slightest, Alphonse did so. The soft mattress and cool sheets felt far better than Raphael's mismatched collection of pillows and rugs did, and he would've almost let himself pretend he was in bed at home, if that hadn't caused so much pain.  
Asmodeus rummaged around the room behind him; the noise receded suddenly, then returned, as if he'd gone back into the corridor. Then something very cold and very wet was laid gently against Alphonse's wounded side, the boy yelping and almost springing to his feet.  
"Lie still. It will reduce the swelling."  
Alphonse cast a brief glance down at the towel pressed against him, and then went limp again. When Asmodeus was satisfied that it was well arranged, he climbed slowly atop the boy, holding his weight on his arms to not hurt him, and began to ease himself in.  
The boy stiffened very briefly at that. For one moment he had thought...what a fool. Raphael often liked to play at being kind too, but ultimately, there was only one thing about him that mattered to the warlord. The emperor and his kind master were not so different. He supposed in these lands, it made sense that only those with enough cruelty and greed made it to leading positions.  
His eyes closed, Alphonse remained unmoving on the bed as the emperor eased himself inside him. Although the pain on his side had him tense, he was accustomed to such intrusions, and he had slicked the man's cock well enough, so the emperor's gentle prodding did not hurt him.  
Alphonse only hoped he attributed his inactiveness to the wound on his side, and did not ask much of him. Soon enough the warlord had pushed his cock fully inside him, pressing hips to hips and roiling them against him for good measure, before he began setting up a gentle pace.  
The emperor buried his face against his neck, closing his eyes and breathing in his scent, his pace slowly hastening as he groaned against the blond's soft skin.  
And the blond--bit down on his lip, tried uselessly to calm down his breathing as something warm slowly built up inside him with each of the man's thrust.  
It was by far not the first time he was taken. The warlord had claimed his body in every position imaginable, both with his own body and any toy within his hold... And yet... It had never felt...  
A shameful moan escaped him as the emperor lovingly ran his hand down his side--the uninjured one, moved to caress and tease his chest, his bells chiming softly in time with his tempo.  
Raphael so often claimed to love him. But his touches were aggressive, demanding, wild. He took and took and took, and even when he claimed to give in return, it was always to sate his own desires, not Alphonse's.  
But this... this was different. Even as the emperor took his pleasure on his body, he was mindful of the boy's own. His fingers traced carefully across the boy's skin, gently stroking his stiff nipples, the curve of his hips, the bend of his arms. His pace was deliberate, controlled, and whenever it quickened to much, Alphonse stiffening at the tension in his side, he relented.  
Then one of his hands slipped carefully between the boy and the bedsheets. This was nothing new--Raphael often fondled his cock. But where the warlords hands were greedy, squeezing and jerking, the emperor's touch was gentle, running his fingers carefully in between the bells, thumbing the boy's tip.  
Yet--even at the carefulness of that touch--Alphonse stiffened, let out an almost imperceptible whimper. And Asmodeus paused! He actually paused, for a long moment, as if thinking--and then withdrew his hand, moving again to stroke less sensitive parts of the boy's flesh, and laying a soft kiss on the back of his neck.  
Alphonse buried his face against the bed's soft furs, muffling the disgusting sound of his voice and the tears that leapt to his eyes. He was disgusting--how--why?!  
He was not supposed to feel this way, not supposed to feel that warmth and spark inside him at each of the emperor's touch, his hips moving in rhythm with his of no will of his own, his breath growing ragged, back arching, letting the man push himself even deeper inside him--  
Another sharper cry left him at that, the blond's fingers curling against the sheets as the first drops of white smeared themselves against the matress.  
He wanted it to be over--and yet his body dreaded the moment it did. He shuddered, pressed his face all the more closely against the bed, and waited.  
He didn't have long to wait.  
The emperor's breathing had grown as faltering as his own, skin trembling where their bodies touched. Quicker and quicker his movements came, although never so fast or rough as Raphael's, and then--  
Alphonse arched, cried out, and stained the sheets as the lord filled him. It was a release quite unlike any he'd ever taken at his masters hands. His mind drifted on soft warm clouds somewhere high, a haze in sunrise colors enveloping his mind, gentle and comfortable and all encompassing.  
He settled back to earth some time later, trembling. It had taken him longer to arouse the emperor, but the release had been quicker. In time with his own instead of long after.  
Alphonse tensed slowly as he felt the man stir atop him, ready to begin again--surely? But instead the emperor drew away, turning to his side and simply stroking Alphonse's hair, gentle.  
"The room before you leads to a bath, if you wish one."  
For a moment the blond remained beside him, trembling, but then he got up and off the bed without a peep, cradling a hand to his side as he stumbled forward.  
Asmodeus heard the water trickling as the boy washed himself. He closed his eyes and waited. The blond did not take long there, perhaps wanting to avoid his anger, and when he emerged from the room, wrapped up in a towel, he stood there, staring at the floor and awaiting the man's commands.  
Asmodeus rose to his feet, slowly. Alphonse heard him again moving about the room, drawers shutting, and then he was drawing close again. Why? Had he changed his mind, gotten more salve--  
Alphonse stiffened and then relaxed as the emperor laid a soft white robe over his shoulders.  
"Lay down--"  
again, Alphonse tensed--  
"Your wound won't heal standing."  
The emperor's behavior was much more confusing than Raphael's had ever been. Alphonse obediently trudged to the bed, and Asmodeus tucked the wet cloth carefully around his side again before lying beside him, drawing him gently close, back to front.  
The cold felt so good on his hurts. Better than he'd thought anything could feel, except maybe--  
Alphonse shoved that thought away. He also shoved away the strange feeling, subconscious and deep, that it was nice to be held in such a way, with carefulness rather than lewdness.  
Asmodeus nuzzled his shoulder.  
"Your master won't have you back until tomorrow. I'm going to rest, now, and we'll eat when I wake. In the meanwhile you can rest, or read, or soak longer if you wish. Just be gentle with your wound. And--"  
A moments silence and then a half whispered murmur.  
"Don't touch anything on the walls."  
And then the emperor closed his eyes, relaxing slowly next to him, sighing.  
Alphonse said nothing in response, instead remained quiet in the emperor's hold, only moving to shiver as his warm breath washed over his neck.  
It would be best if he simply let the old man hold him, he decided. If that was what he wanted. Besides, after spending a whole night shackled to a wall naked under the rain, he welcomed the warmth and comfort.  
As such, he closed his eyes and relaxed in his hold. It wasn't long before his tired and battered body succumbed to the softness of the bed and the warmth of the one beside him  
His sleep was thankfully dreamless. He did not want to dream of home, not in this place, and he did not even want to think about what other types of dreams would come to him. Perhaps his lack of dreaming helped him rest better, or perhaps the man besides him was simply too old and needed more rest. Whichever the case, he woke up before him.  
Asmodeusu woke up to find his bed empty. He frowned sadly, straightened up in his bed. He found the boy not much farther away, sitting in a chair by his desk, holding one of his books in his hands, sharp grey eyes scanning over the pages. He did not even seem to notice when the emperor sat up on the bed  
Asmodeus looked at him a while longer before lying back with a yawn. At this noise Alphonse started, looked up, and froze--fully expecting to be beaten for the book, even though he'd been given express permission to read. But Asmodeus merely waved a hand in lazy dismissal.  
"I'll have the servants bring food; what do you wish? Then I'm afraid there's paperwork I must tend to, but you can keep reading if you like."  
The emperor glanced briefly at the coverings on the walls before staring instead out the high window, judging the time from the red stain of the sun.  
The boy was quiet for a moment, slowly curling up where he sat-wincing when that jolted his side. His face was hidden behind the bak he held, only his eyes visible.  
"…Beef" He said quietly, thoughtfully.  
"And apple pie…or pumpkin pie…a pie"  
Living with Raphael his meals consisted mostly of—cum…the occasional small fruit…bread…and a few small birds. The food of the desert was so much different than the food from home. He did not know if it was any different here, but he could hope.  
Asmodeus smiled.  
"You have fine tastes."  
The emperor sat up, stretched, and stood. Even though Alphonse was becoming more convinced of his age, he could tell from his movements and... from how his body had felt, close to his own... that he was still powerful. Nothing against Raphael's youthful viciousness, of course, but more capable than many. That was probably part of why he was still emperor.  
Alphonse dropped his eyes to his book again, desperate for what might be the last chance in months, or years or... ever to read a story. He jolted as the emperor spoke from close beside him.  
"I enjoyed that story myself, when I was your age. I used to dream of becoming an emperor like that hero. Yet here I am now, taking male slaves to bed. Funny how things turn out."  
He laughed softly and turned away, reaching for a rope hanging from the ceiling and tugging it lightly; a faint ringing could be heard, running away down the corridor. Asmodeus crossed his arms behind his back and stood facing the door, giving a few orders regarding supper to the servant who appeared before sending him away.  
Alphonse grimaced at the man's words, but said nothing, merely glared at the pages before him, the words blurring. He curled up tightly in his seat, even when it hurt his side—but said nothing.  
Ah, the emperor had succeeded—for a moment, in achieving what Raphael had sought for so long—make him forget with fake acts of kindness the monster beneath.  
With the servant sent away, Asmodeus turned his attention back to Alphonse--and blinked. The boy had looked well content a moment ago, but now he looked miserable anew, as if he'd only just appeared before him.  
"What's wrong?"  
A sudden thought.  
"...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make light of the story. It's a nice one, even if I can't believe in it myself any more."  
if anything at his words the boy seemed to shrink all the more.  
"…No, you are right. There are no heroes, no one helps the weak, not for free. It's a stupid story…" He closed the book abruptly and set it on the table, turned to look out of the window instead.  
Asmodeus didn't look at him. Rather he was the one who now looked at the ground.  
"My wife..."  
His eyes strayed again to the covered paintings.  
"...But that was a long time ago."  
He fell silent, and neither said anything more until supper.

It wasn't the answer to his pain, not by far, but it was quite appreciated all the same.  
Alphonse's eyes widened as he stepped into the dining hall, a fresh cold cloth tied around his side and his soft white robes covering more of him than Raphael would ever have permitted. It was as if an entire bull had been prepared solely for this meal, and indeed, that well might have been the case. There were bowls and bowls of beef in every cut, cooking, and seasoning available; steaks, stews, spiced beef, beef with potatoes and noodles and crisp breads and vegetables of all colors. And there was pie--Apple and pumpkin, but also chocolate and strawberry and blueberry and a few he knew no names more. He must have been staring more ravenously than he realized, because Asmodeus scratched his chin contemplatively.  
"Don't make yourself ill, please."  
With that said the emperor sat, beginning to pull bits and pieces of meals towards him--and more than half of the strawberry pie.  
The bond stepped forward, eyes wide as he walked around the table with a gaping mouth, as if he could either not believe the amounts of food before him or simply didn't know where to start.  
Most likely, both of those guesses were true.  
Alphonse's stomach growled hungrily, not having fed for a whole day, and he decided to start by grabbing a plate and following his nose around.  
he served himself from five different plates before he sat down, shoveled a spoonful of food into his mouth, outright moaning at the taste, closing his eyes.  
And then all of a sudden he stopped, his eyes opening, the boy looking sadly downwards as he swallowed the food.  
The emperor quirked an eyebrow upwards at that.  
"Is something wrong?"  
Again that hated question, and yet this time the boy welcomed it.  
He looked up at the emperor as he spoke.  
"I…can't eat all of this, it's too much food"  
"The servants will eat what you don't"  
Alphonse was quiet for a moment, looking down at the food again, then looking up once more as he spoke  
"Then could I…send some to my friend?…His name is Luke, h was chained to the wall with me…I don't think…my master will feed him"  
Asmodeus stared. Stared intently. And then he started laughing, head thrown back, laughing until his chair almost toppled backwards, at which point he righted himself and coughed.  
"Sending food to Raphael's slave and not him? Oh, I like the thought! You're quite the bold one--"  
The emperor paused again.  
"Ah; I don't believe I asked your name?"  
"….Alphonse" The boy said quietly, and despite his best attempts to hold back, another spoonful found its way into his mouth.  
"Very well, Alphonse."  
Asmodeus clapped his hands, and a servant appeared. Asmodeus ordered him to take a selection of the tastiest offerings and bring them to Luke, and if Raphael happened to see them along the way, let him know he and his slave were having a wonderful time together. The emperor cut off another round of his cackling by stuffing his face with pie.  
Alphonse began eating slowly again, but soon he shoveled more and more food into his mouth—and then when he began feeling full, he went for the pies, beginning by those he missed and following with those he hadn't eaten yet.  
Before long he was so full breathing hurt, and he collapsed against his chest, cradling his belly with a hand and struggling not to fall asleep right then and there.  
Asmodeus hadn't eaten half as much as his young guest, but he was still well content. He would've much liked to go straight back to bed himself, but unfortunately there was work to do.  
He pushed his chair back and stood, and then moved to Alphonse. The boy let out a startled squeak as the emperor picked him up, but then relaxed, too full and sleepy to much object. Asmodeus, meanwhile, inwardly thanked the gods that the boy was as light as he looked, and started back towards the bedroom.  
Soon enough Alphonse found himself lain back in bed. That roused him like nothing else could, the boy looking anxiously up--but Asmodeus was turned away from him. The emperor pushed open the windows, letting a fragrant breeze in, and then sat before the mound of paperwork at his desk, sighing none too subtly and rubbing his temple as he began scratching at the parchment.  
The blond let out an audible sigh of relief at that, collapsing back against the bed, his head hitting the plush pillows. He guessed they were filled with goose feathers, and made him think Raphael had just shoveled sand into his.  
Raphael…  
He curled up on the bed, turning his back to the emperor—thankful that that left his injured side facing upwards.  
He would soon fall asleep and the sun would rise and it would be tomorrow. And then he would have to return to Raphael. Back to him and his lewd looks and touch, his cruel games, his meager food—with made everything taste good in comparison. After being able to eat everything he wanted, he finally realized just how starved he was.  
The emperor's words echoed softly in his head.  
Are you afraid he will hurt him?  
Yes. He was afraid, not of the possibility that the warlord would hurt him, but of the certainty of it.  
He closed his eyes and shuddered, the tears slipping silently down his cheeks. Once again he raised a quiet plea to the heaves, one that did not go past his lips.  
Let it end, even if his life ended with it.  
Asmodeus, engrossed in his work, didn't notice this newest sign of the boy's suffering. The sky grew blood red and then tarnished purple and at last dark save for the stars, and only then did Asmodeus leave his work, setting down his quill and looking at the completed stack of papers with approval.  
Alphonse was still awake, although he showed no sign of it. He felt Asmodeus once again exchange the towel on his side for a fresh cold one, and then he lay beside him. Alphonse felt his arm hovering above him, as if to pull him close, but then his hand strayed instead to stroke his hair, caressing it gently until he fell asleep.  
And still Alphonse remained awake, covering his face with his hands, shaking. Suddenly and to his great surprise he twisted around, burying his face against Asmodeus' chest, sobbing. The emperor started awake.  
"P-please... Please don't let him take me... P-please..."  
Asmodeus' eyes widened, the man sitting up even as Alphonse continued to cling desperately to him. He didn't answer, because there was none to give. Instead he stroked the boys hair, and moved to lay on the far side of him so Alphonse wouldn't have to rest on his injured side to cling to him. And cling he did, all through the long hours of the night, sobbing brokenly as the newest stranger to have raped him stroked his hair to comfort.  
At some point during that broken night, Alphonse must have finally given in to exhausted sleep, for he was aware suddenly of opening his eyes and being blinded by light. Asmodeus was already awake and dressed, eyes distant. He beckoned for Alphonse to stand.  
The boy made one last weak sob before obeying.  
Strangely, no servants arrived to usher him back as he'd been brought out. Rather Asmodeus escorted him himself--him and a dozen or so armed guards. Alphonse wasn't surprised by their presence. He only wished that they were there to protect him, too.  
At last they rounded the final corner--and found Raphael there, waiting. He looked more bloodthirsty than Alphonse had ever seen him in all those many long months of cruelty.  
Alphonse simply stopped moving, shaking. Raphael strode forward and despite the guard's warnings and brandished weapons seized his slave and dragged him towards the door. Alphonse didn't see Luke, and didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse.  
“How much did you pay for him?"  
Asmodeus' voice, soft. Raphael paused, but his fingers tightened all the more around Alphonse's wrist.  
"...An emperor's ransom," he hissed, finally.  
"I'll pay you twice that."  
The blond whimpered as the warlord's fingers tightened cruelly around his wrist, yet he remained motionless beside his master, doing nothing to fight it. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, the blond not bothering to look up at Asmodeus.  
The emperor wanted to buy him. But he would not be able, that much he knew. The warlord had made it very clear from the very beginning that no amount of money would ever be enough to buy his freedom. Asmodeusu might be the richest man in these lands, but eve that would not be enough to set him free from the warlord. And yet…  
Quietly, he looked up at Raphael, waiting. He wanted to tell the man to sell, to use the money and buy himself 10 more proper slaves. But ah, if he did not sell—and he would not, then hell awaited him for however long the warlord remembered his words.  
He remained quiet, looking at his master's back.  
Raphael turned around. His eyes were wide with pure, abject shock, the sort one might feel if, having just spared your mortal enemy's life, they chose to mock you from the ground. The wide, blank eyes of someone ready to snap, to kill.  
Asmodeus continued quite unbothered.  
"I bought a jewel once before, but they weren't to my taste. Alphonse, however--"  
"He's not a jewel," Raphael spat.  
Alphonse hadn't the slightest idea what that meant, but now it was Asmodeus' eyes that went wide and blank.  
"...what?"  
"Slavers caught him in the greenlands, and I bought him--I saved him from cruel hands! I gave him a good life--"  
"Cruel hands? Like yours?"  
Raphael took a long, slow breath.  
"I think, oh great, mighty emperor, that you are in no position to speak to me of gentleness."  
Asmodeus' eyes narrowed.  
"I've fallen, yes, but I shall tell myself I've fallen less far than you. Or are you not the same bright eyed man who came to me, ten years ago, with grand plans of peace?"  
A shudder ran through Raphael's body. He made one violent, half jerking motion in Asmodeus' direction--and then turned away, yanking Alphonse inside the room and slamming the door.  
Raphael yanked the robes off him immediately and shoved Alphonse to all fours, the boy crying out in wretched fear. Raphael seized his hips, stared intently at his ass, hissing.  
"He fucked you, didn't he? He must have. But then why are you clean? Old bastard can't stay hard any more?"  
The blond shuddered violently where he was held, thick tears sliding rapidly down his cheeks to splatter against the floor as he sobbed.  
"I-I….I b-bathed master—you told me t-to be o-obedient, I l—listened to you, so p-please" He croaked, closing his eyes as he broke down sobbing.  
If anything his words seemed to enrage his master further.  
His nails dug in cruelly to the boys hips.  
"Is that how it was? He bathed you and caressed you and told you it'd be better with him? Well know this, Alphonse: if you find me a monster you'd find him the devil himself. Do you know how many people he's tortured, killed, to advance his petty reign? Yet a few simpering lies from him and you probably sucked his cock with joy--"  
At that moment Luke came stumbling out of the adjoining bathroom, looking horrified. He crumpled to all fours in front of Raphael, quivering.  
"P-please, please don't hurt him--he didn't want to go, you saw, it wasn't his fault so p-please--"  
"I'm not going to hurt him," Raphael snarled, even as his hands hurt and the forced position hurt and the ribs he had broken hurt. And then without warning he knelt, sticking his face straight down and into--  
The boy cried out sharply at that, jerking forward, but the warlord's hold on his hips was far too firm for him to escape him.  
His eyes had shot open when he'd felt the warlord's face press against him, his tongue licking him--t-there. Soon enough they closed shut once more, as the little blond trembled and sobbed, shuddering as he felt that slick member pushing into him.  
Truly there was no end to how disgusting and cruel the warlord could become.  
Please go. His lips mouthed, the boy not daring to raise his voice to speak the words, the memories of what had happened last time he'd been ashamed of being seen still fresh in his mind.  
Thankfully Luke seemed to understand, and a moment later he heard the older blond whimper and get to his feet, going back to the other room and leaving Alphonse to sob and moan and tremble in the warlord's cruel hold.  
It would have been horrible enough just the way it was. But worse--worse beyond all his nightmares--was the fact that the filthy act was, slowly but surely, arousing him. He could feel the hot pulsing in his bell covered cock.  
Why, why?! Why--there was no reason it should feel that way--none of it should, but there he was, nothing better than the most basic and broken of whores.  
He sobbed disconsolately against the floor, the pain in his side hardly mattering against the agony in his head.  
Raphael took no notice of the boy's feelings save for the fact that he was getting hard. He discovered this by reaching between the boy's legs and squishing his flesh mercilessly, careless of the cold rings, letting out a small pleaded grunt when he found his slave already half erect. Good; the boy's body, at least, remembered its lord.  
His tongue played and teased and invaded that soft flesh until, with a son of despair, Alphonse spilled his seed upon the floor.  
Raphael drew back from the trembling boy, then, but not far. He licked four fingers and jammed them mercilessly into Alphonse's ass, the little thing arching uncomfortably but yielding; he was no virgin, not by far.  
It was the only effort Raphael made to 'prepare' him. A moment later he was on top of him, cock replacing fingers, grunting harshly as he rocked his slave's body back and forth across the floor.  
Any miserable sound of pleasure he might have been making vanished entirely at that, the boy just outright sobbing as the warlord pierced him again and again and again. He was barely able to hold up his weight at the man's rough movements--and then Raphael laid fully on top of him, the boy's meager strength not enough to support both their weight.  
Alphonse fell to the floor, squeezed beneath his master with a scream of pain, his eyes wide open.  
He scrabbled wildly at the floor, trying to get away, run away from tue pain, but Raphael's weight alone was enough to both hurt and pin him down, the blond unable to go anywhere.  
"I-it hurts--it h-hurts! Master P-please it h-hurts!"  
Raphael's response was to grind him even more harshly against the ground as he came. Alphonse screamed again, and everything went dark.  
But not for long. Gods, not for nearly long enough! His eyes flickered open to pain and to himself pressed now against the wall, Raphael energetically pounding away at his ass, soon coming again. That told him Raphael had taken advantage of his body while he was unconscious for at least a few minutes. The boy dug his face into the wall, nails leaving faint marks, sobbing without end.  
Raphael peeled him away, pressed him now sharply down against the bed, hissing as he thrust back in.  
"Did you think I didn't see, you little slut? You were cowering behind him--you wanted him to buy you! Ungrateful, filthy little whore--"  
Of course he had wanted to be bought over, of course he wanted to be away from him. It did not matter what tales the warlord spun to him. Asmodeus may be a monster himself, he was sure there was darkness inside the emperor--but no man could he worse than Raphael himself.  
Between his sobs and sharp screams of pain, the boy barely managed to draw in a shaky breath, but now he struggled for it, shook his head.  
"N-no master, I didn't, P-please! I-I want you, I w-want you!" He croaked desperately, wanting more than anything for the pain to disappear.  
But despite the words he was desperately spitting, his body was a true testament to the lies that left his lips, cock limp between his legs while the warlord fucked him.  
Raphael hissed, and all the serpents in the world together couldn't have made such a terrible sound.  
"It seems we are both liars."  
He slammed into him, grinding him hard against the bed; Alphonse screamed, long and shrill, and as if that excited the warlord he came on the spot. But then, finally, he seemed finished with him, drawing away and leaving Alphonse crumpled half against the bedding. He returned a moment later, not to show any sympathy to his broken slave, but to slide a modified pair of beads inside his entrance, sealing his release inside him.  
Then it seemed he was done. The warlord stalked away, still shaking with rage, to glare out the window.  
The boy remained where he left him, barely stirring as he plugged him up, few sobs leaving him now as he struggled to breathe.  
During his stay with Raphael Alphonse had come to intimately know what pain was, both inside and out. This time he had fucked him harder than any time before. But that was not the problem. In all these months, the warlord had fucked him enough that he was left sore rather than in excruciating pain. No, that pain came from elsewhere.  
When Asmodeus had grabbed him, a gentle touch had been enough to sent him crumbling onto his lap. Now Raphael had laid the whole fury of his weight upon the wound, and then some, shoving him back and forth against every surface available.  
It hurt to even breath, as if every intake of breath drove a a hundred daggers into his flesh, cutting him from the inside. It was the only reason his sobs had ceased at all.  
He remained completely unmoving on the bed, pale fingers curled upon the sheets as the tears fell soundlessly down his cheeks.  
In all of this, the only comfort he found was the thought that perhaps now, finally, the warlord had done enough damage to kill him.  
It was another few minutes before Luke stuck his head out of the bathroom again. His eyes sought Alphonse--caught the faint movement of his chest with a mixture of pain and relief--and then he hesitated there on the threshold, wanting to go to him, wondering if it would just make things all the worse.  
It was as that moment that a frantic knocking came from outside the door. Raphael turned towards it, snarling, but before he could tell the offender to be gone they burst inside the room uninvited. It was a few of Raphael's soldiers, some of them the same ones who had been glaring and fingering their weapons watchfully when the emperor came to call. But the one at the front was different.  
He gasped, chest heaving, before Raphael could speak.  
"M-My lord, the emperor's army is moving--they've started amassing in the castle, between here and the throne room, and all around it as well!"  
Raphael's face lost some of its color even as his eyes took on that bloodthirsty madness once more.  
"Assemble the men, quickly."  
The soldier pressed his head even farther down in apology.  
"I've given the order already, my lord, but many of our men are scattered throughout the city--"  
Raphael snarled, but even as he did so he was moving forward.  
"To the horses, then--the fools in the whorehouses will have to fend for themselves. Bring my slaves."  
A flurry of motion. Strong arms seized Alphonse, and Luke's cry from the bathroom suggested he and the other boy had been grabbed as well. Alphonse couldn't tell for sure. The pain of being tossed roughly over a shoulder was too much, and again he lost consciousness.  
When he awoke, the hot sun was beating mercilessly upon his naked back. He felt the familiar hair and warmth of a horse beneath him, ropes binding him in place like so much luggage. He lifted tortured eyes to the horizon--and then, despite his pain, his eyes widened sharply.  
Several hundred of Raphael's soldiers, all astride horseback and armed to the teeth, were fanned around him in a frightening show of military strength. It was nearly the full amount the man had brought for his journey southwards. Yet even so...  
Surrounding them, in a circle, were even more men, decked in the colors of the emperor's army. The white haired man they'd encountered before the throne room was there at the forefront, eyes cold and sharp, and beside him stood Asmodeus.  
It seemed Asmodeus was in the middle of speaking to Raphael.  
"--you will be pleased to know, however, that the only price I ask for your departure is your slaves."  
Alphonse watched silently, unable to move and unable to speak--and even if he had been able to, there was nothing he could have done.  
His eyes on the emperor, then moved to the warlord--shying away at the murderous intent in his face. He began scanning instead for Luke. The man had intended to bring him over as well.  
Raphael hadn't been expecting that. But he thought as swiftly as he moved, his answer spat out.  
"You do realize that this unprovoked attack, and such senseless demands for my possessions, will put our treaty quite at risk."  
"Given your unprovoked attack two days past, I rather feel the treaty was already at risk,"  
Asmodeus answered, serenely.  
Raphael's teeth clenched so sharply half his army might have heard it.  
In years of military strategy, cautious planning, decisive strikes--he had never considered that the emperor might turn on him. Not truly, at least. He had gone through the motions, kept his troops mostly prepared out of caution, but to think this day had truly come to pass? The emperor was being a fool! A little surplus food and water, of which they had extra in abundance, was small price for protection against the desert. Asmodeus' country, after all, did not have the military strength to both defend their innards and their borders. The troops stretched before him were impressive, but they were also just about everything the emperor had to offer, while in contrast Raphael's numbers back home would let him match the fight evenly--save for experience, in which his own troops were far superior.  
What was the bastard thinking? Had he gone truly mad in his advanced age?  
"Our... misunderstanding... has been resolved. You haven't given me much reason to trust you of late, which is why I reacted as strongly as I did. Neither side is blameless. But are you really willing to let a single squabble and a slave ruin our alliance?"  
"Truthfully, I've been thinking of cutting you loose for a very long time."  
"Your suspicions are unfounded. This pact is profitable for both of us, and I have no reason to betray it."  
"Or DO you?"  
Asmodeus' eyes shone with fire. He hadn't enjoyed himself quite this much in a long time.  
"I think, desert king, that not having found happiness in your own domain you would've soon sought it in ours. It would be madness to destroy our bond, yes... but I do believe you've become madness yourself."  
Raphael said nothing. His mind was far from this idle talk. Asmodeus would not have summoned his army of his mind could be changed by talking.  
...But this fight would not go well. His men, he firmly believed, could kill two enemies for every one of themselves. But Asmodeus' current forces were nearly triple his own, and as much as he trusted his men, he could not trust such odds. They might still win--but the losses would be destructive. Even if he returned with the two thousand or so warriors left behind at their camp, the journey would give the city's occupants ample time to flee. They would be forced to become farmers for their food, and that would leave them as weak as the original occupants.  
No, it wasn't wise to fight, not now. But the idea of striking the life from the emperor and his bastard general almost made it worthwhile.  
Slowly, Raphael dismounted his horse, drew a knife, and moved to where Luke and the new slave--Prince--had been bound similarly to Alphonse. He stood still for a moment before them before slicing out. Like fell roughly off the horse, but was on his feet again in time to grab Prince, dragging the other boy forward despite his cries.  
And then, slower still, Raphael moved to Alphonse.  
For all the thousands of men around them, there might have been no sound but the wind off the desert sand, ruffling their hair. Raphael looked at him for a long, long time, a lifetime, and Alphonse knew that no matter what happened now, he would never forget his face.  
Raphael leaned in to him, his breath a whisper in his ear.  
"Do not think for one moment that I will not return for you. And if, when I do, I find that you have spilled your own blood to spite me, then I will ride at once to the greenlands, and gather up every soul that shares a single drop of your blood. Then I shall breed them like rabbits for meat, as long as it takes, until they bear a child like you. And once they do, I shall make his life such a living hell on account of your name that his screams shall torment your rest in the waters of the afterlife forever."  
With this he straightened, and cut his ropes.  
Alphonse slid limply down the horse and into Luke's waiting arms. Without hesitation, then, despite the weight of his loads, he began to stagger towards Asmodeus, knowing not what awaited, but knowing it must be kinder than this.  
No, there were no heroes, and happy endings existed for only those who delighted in causing suffering.  
Luke staggered, then fell, as suddenly both the boys in his hold began struggling against him. Alphonse sank his teeth sharply in his arm, forcing him to let go of him.  
He stumbled to his feet, naked and bruised, a hand clutching his side as he stood with his back turned to the warlord, facing the emperor.  
Raphael's words rung again and again in his head, giving him strength to stand and speak when before he had none.  
"Keep your filthy hands and your l-limp cock away from me you filthy old man. I would rather d-die than leave my master, and I will cut your throat and mine if you try to steal me away!" He screamed, voice hoarse.  
Luke shook his head at him, tried to grab his leg and he kicked him for it, barely keeping his balance as he turned and stumbled towards Raphael, falling against him and clinging to his clothes, the tears that he had been holding back flowing rapidly out of him as he hid his face against the warlord.  
No, as long as the man lives he would never be able to live in peace--no matter how many walls and guards were put between them. For if tue warlord ever gave up on him, who was to say he wouldn't ride away to his home and seek his family?  
And he would not have to seek long or breed anyone to find his other, his twin brother, so far away from all this misery...he would rather be the warlord's little bitch for all eternity before he ever let that happen to him.  
Luke could only stare, horrified.  
“Alphonse, no."  
Why? Why had--no. He didn't know, but he could guess. The warlord had woven chains around them that were stronger than any physical form could take. The brokenness that made Alphonse bow his head and obey was the same that held him captive now. Fear that, should he dare try for freedom, there would be no escape--just pain. Worse even then if he had obeyed.  
Prince, too, was struggling in his hold, trying to return to his master, either out of naivety or fear. He had been in the lord's hold for less than a week and was already broken.  
It was sick. All the people of the desert were sick. God did not show his touch here, under the blazing sun, because the people were already too hard to feel it.  
At that moment Luke began to feel very strange. His vision blurred, not from tears, but from something else. Hot, scorching, like the heat upon the waves of sand.  
His grip on Prince tightened powerfully and, without fully knowing what he was doing, he charged forward.  
Raphael was too busy looking down at his slave to notice the priest--until he tore Alphonse roughly away from him. Alphonse screamed, kicked and thrashed and struggled and told Luke no, stop, STOP, but Luke held him so firmly under the arms that he could neither writhe free nor bite him. Both boys together weighed more than him, but he carried them nonetheless, struggling forward towards Asmodeus. He had no idea what was waiting, but it had to be better than this. Anything was better than this.  
Raphael roared, hand instinctively going to his blade; but then he stood still, Asmodeus' army slowly readying their hold on their blades. He watched as the fucking priest finally collapsed before the other army, a few soldiers relieving him of his load, holding on to the smaller boys no matter how much they screamed.  
The blood in Raphael's veins sung a battle song. Kill them, kill them, kill them all! Kill the priest at last!  
Yes, but not yet, his mind reasoned. The screaming in his blood quieted to a dull but strong murmur, like the distant roar of the sea. He looked at Alphonse for another long minute, wordless, before mounting his horse and spurring it forward. The waves of soldiers before him parted to let him pass, the entirety of Raphael's assembled forces surging forward, out the city streets and into the dry sea.  
Luke watched them until they were gone, lost into the heat of the sun. And then he simply collapsed where he stood, trembling, eyes wide with shock.  
Al watched the warlord and his men go, their silhouettes soon hidden behind a cloud of dust and sand, one that grew smaller with every moment that passed.  
whatever strength he'd gathered before to pry himself away from Luke and walk towards the warlord was gone now. He collapsed into the soldier's arms like a rag doll, sobbing brokenly.  
"N-no, no, no! Please come back! p-please….d-don't hurt them…" He croaked, reaching out weakly with a hand as if the man could see him still, would see he wanted to go with him, would not seek out his brother in his stead.  
Everything hurt. So much. His side, his head, his chest, heart throbbing painfully. Why even go on? So he could live in fear of the man's inevitable return? Live to see how he'd torture his brother? No, he wanted the pain to go away. Forever.  
He eyes the blade of the soldier that held him, and yet Raphael's words returned to him immediately, haunting him.  
Perhaps his brother was doomed now, but he would put the seal of certainty over it if he took his life now.  
Alphonse covered his face and screamed.  
And meanwhile Prince, similarly held in another soldier's arms simply stared, quietly. What? Why? His gallant new master had save him from death, taken care of him and praised him. he had begun looking forward to the future—And yet now…now he had been stolen away?  
Last time it had not ended well. And still he couldn't cry. Not when the new master was there. Would he hurt him if he did? He did not want to find out. He remained still and waiting, quiet and wide eyed as he listened, hoping for a clue of what his future would be.  
Despite himself, and knowing what was to come, Asmodeus couldn't help but grin.  
"He'll be back, of course, but I think we can outlast him. Start preparing for siege."  
"It will be done, my lord."  
Seth saluted, then stepped briskly away, starting to give orders in a strong voice as he did. The emperor turned to walk alongside him, but first stopped alongside Alphonse and the others.  
"I'm sorry, Alphonse, but there is much to be done. I will speak with you when night falls; until then, my servants will care for you and your companions."  
The emperor turned his attention to the soldiers holding the boys then.  
"Bring them to my servants, tell them to give them food and drink and a room, and then return to your general."  
The men saluted--as best they could with their arms full. Then they turned and carried their charges off, Luke rising unsteadily to his feet and following, supported by another soldier bracing him. Asmodeus caught even with Seth and the two fell into deep talk as the army rippled around them.  
All three of the slaves were so shaken that they barely paid attention to where they were going until they arrived there. Then suddenly they were in a lavishly furnished room, one with a bed in each corner, and a variety of meats and breads and fruits and fresh cold water had been brought to them. Also delivered were three pairs of white robes and slippers, a set for each. Then at last the servants departed, bowing, telling them that if they needed anything they merely needed to ring the bell and they would come.  
Luke was at Alphonse's side almost as soon as they were both dressed, holding him close.  
"I'm sorry, Alphonse, I'm sorry, but this is a chance."  
The boy sobbed and shook his head, remained in the other's arms, not having enough strength to push him away.  
"N-no, no, no it's n-not—He's coming back for me, you heard the emperor himself—if there is a g-god with pity in its heart anywhere in this world h-he'll come back, and i-if not…if n-not…" More and more sobs broke away from him then, the blond burying his face against Luke's chest.  
"I should have n-never told him! I shouldn't have! But it was the first thing I did! I told him I'm from the g-greenlands! He knows where my family is—he promised he'd go for them if h-he couldn't have me!"  
He looked up then into the other's blue eyes.  
"I-I d-don't matter Luke, I am b-broken, I am d-dying,but my b-brother…my brother was s-safe and sound and c-clean and now he w-won't be. He won't be b-because I hoped—Because I told that stupid e-emperor to save me!" He cried, muffling his words again on the other's chest to keep anyone outside from listening.  
Luke's eyes widened with slow horror. He pulled Alphonse all the closer then, stroking his back, face in his hair. Despite his best attempts to keep his voice steady for the other's sake it shook as he spoke.  
"He... h-he'll come back, though, the emperor said--and... And if he gets you again that'll be e-enough, he won't go up north if he has you, but--but maybe he won't get you, maybe he'll d-die, and then we'll finally be free of him--we have to hope, A-Alphonse, we have to hope, because that's all we have l-left..."  
Alphonse merely sobbed and shook his head against him in return.  
"L-Luke…there is no h-hope in h-hell"  
Luke had no words to answer that, could only hold Alphonse as he sobbed in his arms, eventually grew too tired to even continue doing that, went limp in his hold and fell into broken sleep. When he did, Luke felt the other blond crawling into bed with him, snuggling up against him and clinging to his clothes, looking nervously up at him.  
"I-I hope our new master is kind..D-do you think he will like me?"  
"I... I'm sure he will, Prince," Luke responded, tiredly. Now that Alphonse had drifted off in his arms, the inclination to follow was almost overpowering. It was the first time in so, so long that he had had such a soft clothes, and such a soft bed...  
Still, he roused himself as best he could, lifting a hand to gently stroke Prince's hair.  
"I... I know you're frightened, Prince, but I promise you this is for the best. You haven't been with us for very long... what you've seen that man do... that was just a shadow of what he's capable of. If he'd kept you he would have hurt you, in time, no matter how well you behaved. So it's better that we're here, alright?"  
Prince whimpered, nuzzled his way closer to him.  
"A-Alright" He peeped, sounding somewhat reassured. He rested his head in Luke's chest, besides Alphonse's.  
"I'm really tired…can I sleep with you tonight? I don't want to be alone" He murmured, looking up at the priest with his wide blue eyes.  
Luke smiled tiredly.  
"Of course, Prince."  
The boy made a happy little noise, pressing against him like a pleased cat. Luke stroked his hair once more before slowly sinking down on to his back, Alphonse cradled in his right arm, Prince in his left. Despite his exhaustion, however, he continued to stare in a daze at the ceiling, even as Prince's breathing slowly fell into the slow rhythm of sleep.  
They were... free. At least from Raphael, at least for now. But even with the future so uncertain, even with the warlord so likely to come back and go straight for them, Luke's heart felt as light as it once had, months ago, in a place where the world was green and the sky's warmth was gentle and kind.  
"Thanks be to God," he whispered, soft, the tears dripping down his face. And then he too closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep. There was no point in keeping watch; their fate now lay in the hands of God... and the emperor.  
When Alphonse woke, hours and hours later, the sun was only just starting to recede towards the far horizon. He had slept nearly all the day away but, as their trial had began at dawn, it still was not yet dusk.  
Prince was curled up beside him, snoring softly, but Luke was standing near the window, quietly munching on a biscuit. He turned as Alphonse roused, giving him a weak smile.  
"All's well, Alphonse. The emperor hasn't come back yet, and I found out that that room--"  
He pointed towards a door opposite the one through which they'd entered--  
"--is a bath. Do you want to take one? I'll go once you finish."  
Alphonse watched him quietly for a moment, grimacing, then nodded gently, getting off the bed and to his feet, clutching at his side as he stepped forward—and cried out and fell onto his knees on the floor, shuddering.  
"I-I…could you just…just help me get there, please?" The boy said very quietly, not looking up at the priest as he did so. Luke was already by his side, making sure he hadn't hurt himself in his fall before he nodded, helped him to his feet and began walking him to the bathroom.  
"Thank you…"  
The bathroom was similar to the one Alphonse had used in Asmodeus' room. It felt more like a small oasis than a bath; circular windows dotted the walls high above, the sunlight falling in in warm beams to mix among an abundance of potted plants and soft towels. The bath itself had a similar feel, a sunken area encircled by smooth stone. Luke helped him down in, then turned his back once Alphonse, seated, began to undress. Then Alphonse knocked softly on the wall, as bidden to do so by a small plaque.  
"Hot water, please."  
A panel of wood slid open farther up the wall, and a warm waterfall poured down until the pool was full. It was an ingenious design, magic orchestrated carefully from the other side of a wall; a corridor full of working servants was hidden there, supplying water and even fruit and drink to Asmodeus and his most valued guests on demand.  
Luke sat quietly on the side of the pool, ears pricked in case Prince stirred.  
"Do you need help bathing, Alphonse?"  
Alphonse was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then spoke softly.  
"N-No, I'll be fine, you can leave... Please"  
Luke hesitated for a minute, then nodded, standing up and moving to leave.  
That was when he hears Alphonse yelp, the sound of splashing as he fell deeper into the pool. Before he thought about it he found himself inside, pulling Alphonse up and out of the water, holding him close.  
"Alphonse! Are you alright?!"  
The boy hid his face against his chest.  
"I-I'm fine...I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine"  
"Alphonse please, you can barely move, please let me help you"  
Alphonse pressed his face more firmly against him, shook his head and sobbed.  
"You c-can't help... I-it's...his stupid fucking...it's still inside...please leave me alone" he sobbed, saying those words even as he clung to him.  
Luke continued to hold him despite his cries, stroking his hair gently.  
"I'll hold you while you clean yourself, and I won't look."  
True to his word, the priest's eyes obediently closed; he shifted his hold, bracing Alphonse under the arms, giving him free reign to move without fear of falling once more into the steaming water.  
The boy hesitated at first, then thought better, slowly relaxing ib Luke's hold. What are you so ashamed of? What are you afraid of? Are you not a slut? A whore? A bitch? Has Luke not seen you do worse? How dare you pretend to have shame?  
His whimpers quieted down, and a moment later he reached back, into his entrance, carefully extracting the golden beads that Raphael had left inside him. It was if if the man had never left him at all. He supposed it was a curse that would live with him his whole life.  
He placed the metal contraption on the edge of the basin, then moved to clean the warlord's filth, the one he had gone through so much trouble to keep inside him, as if that marked him as his over anyone else's. He knew even without it inside him, he was marked for life.  
"Finished?" Luke prompted, softly, when the silence had gone on a while. Alphonse nodded slowly against his chest. The last sparks of resistance had again drained from him. Luke knew all too well what had been done to him, so there was no point wasting precious energy on trying to hide it, not when he felt so tired, and the water so warm.  
Luke opened his eyes and settled Alphonse gently on one of the small stone ledges submerged around the rim of the pool. He turned as if to leave, then, white robes wafting out behind him on the water, but a moment later Alphonse was startled to feel his hands settling on his hair, beginning to clean him, working in the soaps he'd seen set along the tub's edge.  
The boy tensed under his hold at first, then slowly relaxed under his administrations, even going as far as to close his eyes. If there was anyone he could trust in this world, then it was Luke.  
"T-thank you..."  
"Don't worry about it"  
Once he had washed and rinsed his hair, he moved on to help him wash the rest of his body, and the boy let him.  
When Alphonse was clean, he helped him out, wrapping a towel around him to help him dry and then helping him dress. With that out of the way, he helped him back to the bedroom and onto a bed, one that Prince was not currently occupying.  
Luke watched Alphonse a moment longer before settling down on the bed with Prince, keeping his promise. His robes were soaked through, but considering it was warm water in soft cloth, as opposed to cold rain on naked skin, it still felt heavenly. He wanted to bathe, but he would lie down for just a few minutes, until perhaps Prince woke up. He was still so sleepy... he thought he could sleep forever, so long as Raphael's face never appeared in his dreams...  
The evening gave way to night, and the hours rolled on. Luke and Prince slept soundly side by side, oblivious to the world around them. The former had not received a previous night of warm food and warm bath like Alphonse had, his body giving in comfortably to the exhaustion, and Prince's damaged flesh was still not healed from the horrors inflicted by his master before Raphael. Neither would rouse for quite some time.  
Alphonse, in contrast, lay quietly awake. Two days of a soft bed had met most of his body's immediate demands for rest, and aside from that...  
His mind was far away, with the brother who had nearly shared his fate, with the family he had left behind, with the thought of the monster that could hunt them all. He tried to close his eyes, to drown out the thoughts, but whenever he did the warlord appeared looming before him. His fingers curled trembling into the blankets, and it was all he could do not to scream.  
The door opened suddenly. Alphonse shot upright, tensed, and that tension receded only partially when he realized the intruder was the emperor.  
Asmodeus was staring at the two laying in the far bed, the one opposite the door; he seemed bemused by Luke's wet clothing. He turned then to Alphonse, smiling when he saw he was awake.  
"My apologies for taking so long; discussions ran rather late. Has everything been to your tastes? I'll have my tailors fetch you all some real clothes in the morning."  
Alphonse straightened, nodding in aknwoledgement at the emperor.   
"Thank you emperor, you have been very kind. This is more than we deserve, especially after we've caused you so much trouble...and..." His eyes strayed downwards, and he grimaced as he spoke the next words.   
"I...I-I didn't really mean... What I said back on the streets about...you... I'm sorry"  
There was one last issue that bothered his mind. Raphael's absence did not mean he was finally free, it merely meant he had changed to different hands.  
While his new master was, so far, much kinder than Raphael had ever been, he knew how fast a master's mood could change depending in his behavior.  
Angering the emperor meant not only sacrificing his well being, but also Luke's. That was the last thing he wanted. He hoped his apologies and good behavior were enough to ensure the other's stay, and that it kept the emperor from ever looking at him, the same way he had kept Raphael from doing to the other boy what he had done to him.  
Asmodeus grimaced and let out a laugh that was a little too short.  
"I should hope you didn't! You know, if that other boy hadn't dragged you off just then, I might not have too regretted your departure!"  
His tone was lighter at the end of this, though, a joke rather than seriousness. Then he turned to Alphonse, and his expression truly did grow solemn.  
"But tell me; why did you try to return to him? Did you not believe I could protect you? I may be older, yes, but in some ways that makes it all the easier to put that arrogant pup in his place. That bastard has been pushing my graces for far too long."  
The boy didn't look up at him, instead shuddered at his question, fingers curling into the bedsheets. Did he believe the emperor could not protect him? He was sure Raphael would come back for him, and there would be little the emperor could do to keep him away. But that would not be reason enough for him to go back with Raphael. Even a small rest away from him was a rest nonetheless.  
"I-I... He promised h-he'll come back for me, that he would have me a-and... If he couldn't then...he'd h-hunt my family down and have them i-instead" He croaked shuddering, closng his eyes the first tears slid down his cheeks  
Alphonse jolted rather violently when a hand touched his shoulder. It was a gesture he would have expected of Luke, not the emperor, to the point where he had to open his eyes to confirm what he guessed.  
"I might not be able to calm all your fears, Alphonse, but perhaps I can calm a few. As charming as you are, I would not have put my nephew's life and mine at risk unless I was confident the war could be won. And I am confident that it can be won."  
Asmodeus settled down on the side of the bed, turning to look at Alphonse as he continued.  
"I haven't seen it myself, but my spies have, and presumably you have. The lake around which Raphael makes his camp... did you see any fields there?"  
Alphonse had seen only what little of the shoreline could be seen from close to Raphael's tent; the warlord had never let him stray too far from his bed. But from what he could remember, the lake had been surrounded only by a pitifully thin layer of grass and palms before giving way to sand  
Asmodeus seemed pleased by the slow shake of his head Alphonse gave in answer.  
"There are none. They have fresh water there, but not enough land to grow food for all of them, or even a tenth of them. That was why Raphael agreed to protect my borders in exchange for food; his little army would've starved to death otherwise."  
Asmodeus was looking more and more pleased with himself by the minute. He sighed, closing his eyes with relish.  
"They didn't get the food they came for this time, and their food from last time will be more than halfway out. Our little desert dog has no choice but to return here or watch his people starve. That means he'll have to fight us from the desert, after a long march, with supplies running low, while we sit here rested and prepared for siege and stocked with food. His army will either starve in the sun or choose to betray their lord in exchange for our mercy. We've already won."  
Asmodeus seemed to pause in his train of thought then, let out a small sigh.  
"Of course, it will be a bother having to try to protect the borders ourselves again, but I think if I'd kept relying on the dog, he'd have turned on me soon enough, and when I wasn't ready and waiting for it. But, at any rate, what this means for you--"  
He slapped Alphonse's shoulder affectionately, although not so hard as to hurt the damaged boy.  
"--Is that he won't be out hunting your family, he'll be coming here, and soon after that he'll be dead. We have a whole month to prepare, while he'll have a whole month of marching his troops through the sand to leave them weak. It's laughable, really. What the fucker gets for thinking he had nothing to fear from me."  
The boy looked up uncertainly at him. He remained quiet, the emperor's words making sense in his mind, and yet…  
He did not look the miserable mess he'd been moments prior, even now his tears drying, but a frown remained upon his face despite Asmodeus' reassurances.  
He found it hard to believe the emperor was the only source of available in the whole country, and Raphael had many allies besides the emperor laying on his way there. Each of them would help his troops forward, might even provide some more food. It would be a short term solution, and Raphael would still have to come straight to him, but the boy was not so sure the warlord was as hopeless as Asmodeus made it seem.  
And even then, even if the emperor managed to win the war, decimate Raphael's army, that did not mean that Raphael himself would die, and as long as the man lived…  
He shuddered, looking away from him.  
"Please be careful emperor…I have made that track with him myself, and it was not as taxing on his army as you made it sound…" He said quietly.  
Asmodeus' grip tightened softly, reassuringly.  
"Do not worry. Do not mistake my confidence for lack of caution. We will prepare as thoroughly as possible before he arrives."  
Asmodeus' gaze drifted off to the ceiling.  
"Accordingly, I will be most busy again tomorrow. I will take a moment to arrange for a doctor to look you over, however. But for now, for the meantime--"  
His eyes strayed back to Alphonse.  
"Would you care to join me in my chambers for the night? In the morning you can also take your pick of a few books to bring back here for the time."  
Ah, there it was. He looked up at the emperor's face, who was smiling softly down at him. The hand that had been reassuringly stroking his back was now offered at him.  
He was thoughtful for a brief moment. His side still hurt, but his rest had soothed it enough that he could make it back to the man's chambers if he held on to him.  
Raphael's rough claiming on his body had broken havoc in him, but he already knew the emperor would be gentle, would even be mindful of his hurts, as he already knew they were there, would press a cold cloth over it while he simply had to lay down and…  
He could also say no? The man had asked, not commanded, and maybe if he pleaded enough, said he would be honored, but his wounded body might not be able to take it so soon…Then there was another pair of blond slaves sleeping right next to them from which he could choose. If the man took Prince—well no matter, the boy would probably be ecstatic at a chance to jump at their new master, but if he chose Luke…  
Asmodeus' smile widened when the boy, cheeks flustered, took his hand at his question. He helped him up and off the bed, and Alphonse hooked one arm around his while his other hand clutched instead at his side.  
Asmodeus paused briefly outside the door of their room, letting the servants know where he was taking Alphonse so they, in turn, could inform his companions if they asked. The young blonde considered, as they walked past, that the servants were probably meant to guard them as much as serve them. They were not nearly as frightful as Raphael's soldiers, but they were nonetheless just as effective.  
The trip to the emperor's chambers was mercifully short; the throne room was not far away, and then it was just a small stretch from there to his rooms. A servant waiting quietly in the hall presented Asmodeus with a towel at his arrival, one which the emperor again ran beneath the cold waters of the fountain before carrying on. Alphonse said nothing. He had been right. And maybe, maybe it wasn't so bad. It was better than Raphael had ever been to him, the cold would feel good, and even the emperor himself would feel...  
His chest tightened, only sheer will keeping him from spilling his tears in front of his benefactor.  
They moved forward. Alphonse found himself laid yet again on the soft blankets, a towel slipped under his robes and to his ribs. Then the emperor settled down beside him, and...  
...pulled him carefully close, stroking his hair before letting his body relax with a sigh.  
Alphonse remained stiff in his hold, eyes open wide. What…had just…  
He remained alert for a long moment, waiting, yet Asmodeusu' hands never moved to travel down his body, slip inside his robes, or touch him through them. Instead the older man simply held him close and closed his eyes. When the emperor had asked if he wanted to join him in his chambers for the night, this had certainly not been what he had expected to happen.  
As the seconds trickled by and the man made no further attempts to touch him, Alphonse slowly relaxed, sinking further into the warmth of his hold. He was not tired, and did not want to sleep, but simply being held while the man slept was far better than having the man touching him, and so he did not make a peep of protest. Asmodeusu' drew him close, tucking his face against his hair and breathing in his scents, his thumb absentmindedly stroking him.  
Ah, the emperor really WAS getting old. Maybe the man was taking a nap before he took him? Perhaps, but for now it was obvious the emperor wanted nothing but rest, and to have company as he did so. It was not so bad either. His presence, so different to Raphael's was slightly reassuring. A soft bed beneath him, a cold cloth on his side, and then warmth all around him. Alphonse closed his eyes and drew himself closer, letting his guard down. The emperor's hold on him reassured him that, at least for now, he had nothing to fear.  
At some point even Alphonse must have drifted off, for when he opened his eyes, pale light was streaming in through the windows. Asmodeus was just beginning to stir at his side, muttering a little in complaint at the hardship of awakening.  
"Fuck, morning again."  
Slowly, imperceptibly, Alphonse tensed again. Now he was sure, the emperor would have regained his strength, was well rested and...  
Asmodeus stretched elaborately before sitting up on his side of the bed, stretching again, finally rising.  
"Would you care to pick out a few books now?"  
Alphonse did care to pick out a few books, scanning the shelves quickly for a few interesting titles and pulling them carefully out, bowing as best as his injured body could and thanking the emperor for his kindness. It was only then, as they left the room, arms stuffed with books, that Alphonse realized the emperor had truly passed up a chance to fuck him. It wasn't just exhaustion or old age, either; he had been fully rested that morning. So had it then been an act of mercy?  
Finally they were at Alphonse's room again. Luke leapt up at their entry, face worried, but he relaxed as Alphonse gave him a weak smile... although confusion seemed to replace concern at that.  
"Mornin—"  
"Good morning master" At the interruption all eyes strayed down to Prince instead, who had hastily crowd off the bed to bow deeply before the emperor.  
"I'm honored to meet you, and I'd be honored to service you today" The boy said, his voice sweet and complacent. Alphonse grimaced at his words, stepped away from Asmodeus' without another word and towards his bed, placing the books carefully on the night stand.  
Asmodeus blinked slowly. Then he laughed.  
"Ah, my apologies, I was so busy yesterday I didn't mention--but you're free. I release all of you, although I suggest you stay a while longer, to let your wounds heal."  
Luke made a choked sound where he stood.  
Alphonse looked just as shocked as Luke, one hand clutching at his own chest, eyes wide. What? Free? He was free to go? Free to return home? free to…not be touched again? The tears slid silently down his face.  
Prince's reaction on the other had was…  
The Boy had raised his head sharply at the emperor's voice, his own eyes wide, looking at the man with—absolute horror. Slowly he shook his head, his body trembling more and more with each passing second.  
"N-no…no, no no nonono—Please no!"  
Asmodeusu almost lost his balance as the boy suddenly clung to one of his legs, looking pleadingly up at him as he sobbed.  
"P-please no master please! I-I will be so good—I will make you feel so good! I promise! J-just please l-let me show you! Take me to your b-bed—or right here, on the floor is fine! Please don't send me away! Please n-no, Please no!" He cried, as if Asmodeusu had dictated his death sentence instead of his freedom.  
And he might as well had. He was free? free to do what?! All he knew was how to please his master in bed—without that—without being owned he was nothing but a common whore, one that would be beaten and abused and starved! No, no, why? Was he not to his liking? He knew the emperor liked them like him—he had taken Alphonse into his bed, so then why?!  
"Erm," was Asmodeus' immediate answer.  
"You ARE a jewel, I assume?"  
Prince nodded yes about twenty times a second, babbling promises of fine training and fine breeding and--  
"Freedom is better, Prince, freedom is better! We'll take care of you," Luke cried, rushing over and scooping the boy up. Prince simply continued to cry and struggle, blubbering with his arms outstretched. Asmodeus sighed.  
"Well... I could give him to someone who would take care of him."  
Luke looked stricken. Asmodeus continued, gently.  
"He would treat him like a lover, or at the very least a dear companion. I've seen jewels before, and they can't be changed. This is what they are."  
At last Luke bowed, slowly, his voice a whisper.  
"Emperor... my lord... you have given us all a gift I never thought to receive again. I will be grateful to you forever. But please, I beg you, give us a little more time to decide."  
"Take as long as you need, within reason. War is coming, and it would be best to decide before then."  
"Thank you, my lord." Luke bowed his head entirely to the floor. Prince, hiccuping, fell silent as well.  
Asmodeus turned to Alphonse.  
"I have to return to the war counsel, so I'll be brief. You can stay for the siege, or I can grant you horses and supplies for a journey north. I would suggest you stay, as the journey will not be easy on you and your wound, but the choice is yours. Either way, you may continue to make use of these rooms and my servants as long as you are in the city. I'll have a doctor and clothing sent to you shortly. Is there anything else you require before I depart?"  
Alphonse still looked both confused and startled at the emperor's declaration of their freedom, his hand still over his chest, clutching the fabric there. He was staring at Asmodeusu as he spoke, gaping slightly. For a moment Asmodeusu thought the boy would not speak, would merely continue staring at him for hours on end if he stayed, and so he sighed, turning to leave.  
"I-I…" The emperor paused, turning towards Alphonse again and waiting.  
"I…I want to fight" What? The words that left his lips surprised him as much a it did the other inhabitants of the room. Where had that come from? He thought it over, and the words left his lips almost as soon as they came to him.  
"I…we can't leave, we wouldn't make it, and he is coming—for me. Even if he has to come for the food, he is coming for me. He'd throw your walls down to get me back even if he had all the food in the world, I…I can it…I can still feel myself being chained to him" His voice ended almost in a whimper as he shuddered, face filling with fear for a moment, before it slowly began changing to determination.  
"I can't run, but I can't just sit and wait for him either…so please, I want to help…I want to fight…"  
Of all the things Asmodeus might have expected, that was not one of them. He looked nearly as startled as the others.  
"You're injured."  
Alphonse wavered, hand slowly moving down to his side. But then he spoke again, desperate.  
"Please! Even if not with a sword, there must be something I can do--a spear, or a bow, or even rocks if I need to, but please!"  
The emperor was quiet for a moment, thinking, and then he sighed in resignation.  
"Very well. Many new soldiers will be being trained in the days to come, so if you truly want to learn, you will have the chance. Not today, however; I have much to attend to and I'm already low on time. But tomorrow I'll arrange for your attendance."  
"Thank you…t-thank you" The boy croaked, crumpling into his bed and sobbing. Sobbing, why? Was it the combined sadness and misery finally crumpling him down? Or perhaps the overwhelming happiness of freedom? Could he even feel such a thing anymore  
Asmodeus' face softened again. Neither boy could know it, but it was the first time in many years that he had shown such compassion for a being other than himself or his kin. Perhaps it was something about this boy, the innocence in his motions and words, the fire hidden deep inside those seemingly passive eyes... so familiar.  
The emperor realized he was staring. He thought for a moment about going to the boy, but changed his mind as Luke hurried to his side. Excusing himself, the emperor left, satisfied with the day's work. Being good felt rather nice... at least every now and then.  
Luke meanwhile held Alphonse close. The tears were running down his face as freely as the others, but still he laughed.  
"We're free, Alphonse, we're free!"  
Alphonse kept on sobbing as he clung back to Luke, but at the other's happiness he couldn't help but smile too, his sob slowly subsiding.  
Alphonse sniffled when Luke finally let him go, still smiling as he looked up into the other's eyes, but then slowly even that small sign of happiness vanished. He reached out and took Luke's hands into his, looking up straight into his eyes.  
"Luke...t-thank you...I couldn't have made it this far without you, I owe you so much... But I still need to ask you one last favor" His hold on him tightened, his face filled with determination.  
"Please, this...miracle...I want you to cherish it...really cherish it, with everything you have, because it might never happen again so...if the war is lost, if...i-if Raphael comes a-and takes me back, please, please run, hide, 0-promise me at least o-one of us will make it back to the g-greenlands" He finished with a whimper, tears sliding down his face once more.  
"He won't have you!" Luke snarled, fierce. But Alphonse's eyes remained dead and hollow, until slowly the determination withered in the priest, simply sitting there holding the other's hands.  
"Promise me," Alphonse repeated.  
"I promise, Alphonse."

As the emperor himself had promised, clothes and healing arrived not much later. Servants arrived bearing not one outfit for each of them, but several. All were as expensively made as the lavish silks Raphael had so "graciously" granted Alphonse, but none were half so revealing. Alphonse admired his own, a rich red tunic with a white undershirt and black trousers, while Luke looked content in his more simple garb of elegant white with gold trim. Prince, meanwhile, looked utterly miserable; he laid on his bed in his clothes of bright blue with pale gold accents, looking truly like a prince but behaving more like a pauper in rags. He did not like having so much covering.  
Shortly after, a stern faced woman of nearly impossible age arrived. Despite her wrinkles and gnarls she moved with the unrestrained power of a work horse, commanding Alphonse this way and that as she examined his side thoroughly--thoroughly, but so gently that he never once winced in pain.  
The verdict was broken ribs: several. The treatment was, unfortunately, mainly one of time; there was little that could be done but work to control the pain while they mended. To this end she covered his side in yet another cold towel (and prescribed he use fresh ones at least five times daily until the pain was gone), and gave him something bitter to drink that, while not pleasant going down, did noticeably lessen his aches after a few minutes had passed. She left him a whole massive jar of this mixture (twice a day, once at morning once at night, was the prescription for this one), and then with a few words warning him about putting too much strain on his ribs before they healed, she departed. According to her it would take a bit over a month for the injuries to heal.  
After that, the two discussed plans. The realization that they could, if they wished, leave the castle to wander the city filled them both with excitement. In the end, however, the choice was made to wait until tomorrow, both to give their bodies another good day of much needed rest and to make sure they were available if Asmodeus decided to bring news of Alphonse's combat training early. Once they knew the details of that, they would be more able to explore freely.  
Asmodeus didn't arrive early, but he did arrive, that evening, with the promised information. After making sure the treatment and clothes they had received were to their satisfaction, he turned towards Alphonse with a smile.  
"Training for the new soldiers will begin tomorrow at dawn, in the courtyards beyond the castle--I believe you've seen them before? Good. For now, however..."  
Luke and Prince looked up from where they lay.  
"...Would you care to join me again tonight? I need to head out in the dawn myself, so I'll make sure neither of us oversleep."  
Luke stiffened; Prince looked fiercely jealous.  
Alphonse looked both confused and strike at his question, looking at the emperor with his big grey eyes. What? Why? Hadn't the man said he was free? Then why...  
He wanted to say no, of course. Last time he had gone with the emperor, he hadn't touched him, but that did not mean he never would. Their first encounter had Already proved the man was more than willing to fuck him. Had he perhaps felt pity at his pathetic pained posture? Then sent his healer to ensure that...he was good enough to be taken again...Ah.  
The emperor had said they were free, still, just how free was he? He depended entirely on the man--owed him even. Asmodeus could change his kind at any moment and have them thrown onto the streets, naked, penniless, and free. He'd be a whore again by the end of the day, and he had already seen how that had ended up for Prince.  
He took a step forward, eyes on the floor. "I--"  
"I'll go!! I'll go I'll go I'll go-- please let me goooo!" Even injured as he was, Prince leapt swifter than a cat off the bed and was at the emperor's feet, clinging to his leg once more, rubbing his face against him while he kept on clinging.  
"Please please PLEASE take me ma--emperor PLEASE! I will be SO good I will do ANYTHING you ask! Anything!! Just give me this one chance my lord!" He cried, looking pleadingly up at him, begging for a chance to prove his worth to the emperor.  
Asmodeus grimaced.  
"I asked Alphonse, not you."  
Prince went immediately quiet, looking for all the world as if the emperor had stricken him. So shocked was he that he did not even apologize as he let go of the emperor's leg, merely whimpered and crawled away, clinging now to Luke's legs, burying his face against him and sobbing quietly.  
"I'll go" Alphonse said softly, stepping forward to join the emperor.  
Asmodeus looked pleased--at least for a moment. But then he peered closely at Alphonse, and looked suddenly taken aback.  
"...Did you not enjoy my company? I am asking you, Alphonse, not demanding. You seemed content before, so I believed..."  
Color rose to the boy's cheeks at his question. He stood before the emperor, eyes fixed on the floor as he shuddered.  
"I...enjoy your company, emperor, and I' thankful for your thoughtfulness but I...I don't...like laying with men..." He managed to spit out, closing his eyes, his last words a shameful murmur.  
Asmodeus wasn't sure what he had expected, but it certainly hadn't been this. The boy had made such sweet sounds under his care--was he then lying about this? Had, perhaps, his screamed words from the other day been in part truthful?  
"I... see."  
The disappointment went unveiled. In this strange slave from another land he had sensed a kinship which he had long sought for, and now by the boy's own will it was out of reach.  
"Then... you will have to do."  
Stiff words, and he beckoned in Prince's direction even as he turned and left the room. Luke shot Alphonse an uneasy glance.  
Alphonse winced at the look Luke gave him, looked with wide eyes at the emperor's retreating form. What had he done? His answer had obviously not satisfied the man. If he couldn't have him, he was of no use to him.  
Prince sobbed one last time against Luke's leg, slowly wiping at his face as he got to his feet.  
How LOW he had fallen! Once he'd been a proud jewel, loved and lusted over by any eyes that fell upon him. But now, now he was looked at with disgust, taken only as a last resource, because a warm bed was better than a cold one.  
He stepped forward, looking uno just in time to watch Alphonse running out of the room.  
"Emperor wait, please!" At those words the emperor frowned, set up a brisker pace. He did not get far before he felt a tug at his sleeve, looked down to see the one who had rejected clinging to him, panting as he held his side D:  
Alphonse ignored the man's glare as he spoke, struggling to get the words out.  
"Me and Luke...we are not from here--you know this, and in my home...in my home laying with men is a horrible sin, disgusting and depraved, it's what I was taught"  
The boy did not look at him as he said the next words, trembling and flushed.  
"B-but when I l-laid with you...you were kind and...a-and it felt different from anything Raphael ever did to m-me" The blonde moved forward, pressed against his side, burying his face against him.  
"I-I enjoyed it" Alphonse felt himself dying inside as he said the words, even more so because they were true. His fingers curled into the emperor's clothes.  
"A-and if you'll still let me join your b-bed, I'll enjoy it a-again"  
Asmodeus was quiet. All was lost, Alphonse was sure of it; he'd angered him with his reluctance, and even if he did deign to fuck him again, what guarantee was there that he, like Raphael, wouldn't become suddenly vicious--  
"Alphonse."  
The man's voice was very soft.  
"It has been... a long time... since I have had the pleasure of meeting anyone like you. Someone who kept the fire alive in their eyes even when everything in the world sought to snuff it out. Someone who kept fighting even when their back was broken. That's what I wanted of you, more than your body. However," he turned, at last, to look down at Alphonse.  
"I am not so petty as to abandon those I chose to save simply because they won't be mine. I will continue to offer you and your companions shelter and care regardless of what you answer. So I ask you again, and I want you to answer truly: do you wish to accompany me?"  
They boy pried his face from the emperor's side at his words, showing his tear streaked face at him as the man asked him again.  
His answer did not come in the form of words. Instead he leaned forward, fingers curling on the fabric of Asmodeus' clothes and tugging him downwards even as he stood on the tip of his toes.  
Alphonse's lips pressed to his, warm and sweet and tender, trembling against his own as he kissed him, small body pressed to his in order to reach him.  
When he pulled back he pressed to him again, burying his face against his chest and nodding.  
"I-I want to go with y-you..."  
The emperor's chest rose and fell swiftly with emotion. He had given the boy three chances, now, to turn back, and still he insisted. Did that not mean...?  
He couldn't know, he couldn't be sure, but the thought of one last night without that utter loneliness inside him overwhelmed all other thoughts.  
He lifted the boy gently and suddenly and bore him off.  
Soon they were, for a third time, in the emperor's chambers.  
Alphonse was laid softly on his back, although even then, despite the lord's excitement, he took time and care to press a wet cloth to his ribs. Then, however, he simply hovered over him, as if uncertain.  
Slowly, carefully, he leaned in, sniffing the boy's smell and kissing his forehead before he spoke.  
"May I pleasure you, Alphonse?"  
The boy let out a soft whimper in response, looking back up at the emperor as his fingers curled in the sheets below him. He nodded, shivering and flustered.  
If the emperor hadn't known better--much better, he would have thought the boy was a virgin by how red he jad become at simply being laid upon the bed while the both of them remained clothe.  
Alphonse let go of the sheets then, and his hand rose to his tunic instead, the boy beginning to undress.  
Asmodeus' hand touched his, gentle. Alphonse looked up at him, uncertain yet again, but then relaxed softly--slightly--as the man moved the undo the buttons himself. First his tunic, then the shirt beneath, opened and laid bare. And then, carefully, the buttons on his pants were also worked loose, undergarment pulled away, revealing his soft manhood.  
Lying quite at the man's mercy, Alphonse felt strangely exposed for someone who had been fucked and abused, entirely naked, thousands of times before. Yet his heart raced strangely as the emperor looked him over, deciding.  
Alphonse couldn't help but tense again, nervous, as the man moved closer. The emperor's lips drifted across his chest, gracing skin with feather soft kisses, until he found a nipple and began to lap. At the same time a strong hand found Alphonse's sex, fingers running down it with that same gentle grace the kisses had possessed.  
The boy shivered beneath him, nipples growing perky against his tongue, manhood slowly hardening at his caresses.  
"S-stop, please..." The emperor tensed, moving back. His body was obviously enjoying it, so then, why? Had he really been lying after all? Suddenly grown tired of acting a farse? Changed his mind?  
Alphonse's eyes strayed downwards, towards his own body.   
"The bells...I don't want them...I haven't been able to take them off..."  
Ah. The emperor had noticed them, of course, but since they were still here, two days after the boy had received his freedom, Asmodeus had rather thought he wanted to keep them. But now, knowing otherwise...  
The emperor's hands began to move from bell to bell, touching the small golden rings hanging them suspended from the skin, finding the hair thin cracks where they had been bent together, and gingerly prying them open. One by one the small bells dropped off Alphonse's flesh with a final small ring, and after each removal Asmodeus checked the remnant holes for any sign of blood or infection.  
Alphonse simply let his eyes close, body going peacefully limp against the blankets, complacent and trusting beyond any level he had expected to reach with this man. But his fingers were so careful, and the feel of the damn bells dropping off his skin so sweet...  
At last it was finished, the final bell tumbling away as it was released from Alphonse's shaft. The blonde drew a long, shuddering breath and Asmodeus looked up at him.  
"Are they sore? If it hurts, we don't need to do more tonight."  
The boy shook his head without looking at him, now looking more calm than he did before, more trusting.  
"They are old, and I am glad they are gone"  
Asmodeus watched him for a moment longer before he moved to touch the hoy again, resuming his previous caresses.  
The man's touches felt, if anything, even...better without the bells, his flesh relieved at being freed from the kiss of that cold metal, his every moved not marked by that sound he had come to hate so much.  
Alphonse closed his eyes, the first sweet cries escaping his lips as the emperor touched and tasted, his fingers touching him with a gentleness that was alien to the slave.  
Seeing that Alphonse gave no objections, Asmodeus began moving more confidently, suckling instead of lapping at the blond's rosy nipples and giving his perky little cock a firmer squeeze. Alphonse moaned, arching beneath him, heart beating rapidly against his chest.  
The emperor's touch...burned.  
It was a pleasant warmth that washed over his skin at his touch, spark and sunk and traveled downwards to his core. And meanwhile even deeper inside, the warmth turned to shame and wrapped around him, burning.  
But the shame was the familiar feeling. If there was anything Raphael had generously given him, it was shame.  
The alien sensation was the warm tickling above, the one that had him arching and twisting and crying out. He knew how to hide the shame, but this? This he didn't know how to deal with.  
The sounds the boy let out at his touches were, if anything, sweeter than he remembered them being the previous time.  
Asmodeus continued his work diligently, giving pleasure without taking, the position Alphonse was so used to now taken up by another. The boy's obvious ecstasy and the beauty of his cries were enough to begin to stir the heat between Asmodeus' legs, even without the aid of touch.  
When the young blonde was fully erect, in both nipples and shaft, Asmodeus drew back, shifting to lower his face to the boy's manhood.  
Alphonse's heart hammered all the harder in his chest. Asmodeus' hands settled on his inner thighs, spreading his legs slightly at the same time his thumbs ran reassuring circles over the sensitive flushed skin. His tongue flicked out, drawing another fevered cry from his companion as the slick muscle ghosted across the head of his cock. A few more introductory licks, and then Asmodeus drew him fully within his lips, sucking gently, head gliding up and down with his motions to heighten the boy's pleasure just as he had done for him.  
Alphonse's his bucked sharply at that, the boy crying out, habds instinctively reaching to curl into the emperor's hair.  
Asmodeus was startled at that sudden, sharp reaction. Had the warlord never suckled his slave before.  
The warlord had, in fact, suckled him many, many times, but not like this, never like this.  
Raphael suckled him greedily, looking to taste and devour him rather than please, grinding his cock and then painful rings in his mouth all together.  
This was an entirely different thing, the emperor's mouth wet and warm and pleasant, teasing and caressing him as carefully as his fingers had, but all around and feeling much better.  
Asmodeus did not suckle long before the boy let out a sharper cry, arching upwards as he released inside his mouth   
Even this part of him is sweet, the emperor thought, and he drank his seed without complaint. Alphonse did not have much to give, soon falling back limply again upon the blankets, chest and sides heaving.  
Asmodeus sat up, tracing his hands gently down the boy's trembling skin before reaching into a drawer beside the bed, pulling out a bottle of salve. This he began to work into his half-hard cock as Alphonse lay there panting, the older man stroking himself with more force than was needed simply to apply the lotion, grunting as he pleasured himself quite fully into arousal.  
When he had finished, Alphonse had only just recovered, and now looked up at him with the timid uncertainty usually reserved for virgins. Gently the emperor finished stripping away the boy's clothing, and then his own, leaving both naked and breathing hard before one another.  
Lightly, softly, the emperor caressed his face.  
"Don't be afraid."  
Then his hands moved to Alphonse's hips, hold firm but painless, and drew the boy gently upon his cock.  
But Despite his appearance and behavior, Alphonse was no virgin. As the emperor's cock nudged at his entrance, the blonde spread his legs for him and positioned his hips, readying for his entrance.  
As before, the emperor was gentle and careful in his claiming, paying attention to every reaction the boy gave to his body as he penetrated him; a luxury Raphael had not afforded him even on the night he stole his innocence. From the very beginning, he had hurt him, and continued to do so again and again.  
The emperor had never hurt him, he told himself, even if he had cried an awful lot since he had fallen into his hands...  
Asmodeus found no resistance as he pushed forward into Alphonse's warmth, the boy warm and willing in his hold, and so he moved back to push forward again, and again, and again, one time after another, beginning to set up a rhythm and once more coaxing those sweet soft sounds from them one beneath him.  
It pleased him when Alphonse reached forward, wrapping his arms around his neck, pressing their bodies closer, and letting his thighs nestle around the emperor's hips, his soft skin rubbing against his own with each movement.  
Even as their pace increased, it never went beyond anything that could be called gentle. Alphonse's small size left him comfortably tight about the emperor's cock, even though he was nowhere close to virgin, and in turn Asmodeus' slow, deliberate movements coaxed a pleasure from deep within his body that Raphael's rough and frantic fucking had always overwhelmed with pain.  
Their flesh rubbed together, warm and flushed, and Alphonse's own hard sex was squeezed pleasantly firmly between his own stomach and the older man's at the height of each thrust. Free from pain, from the helplessness of slavery, knowing for the first time in his life that if he pleaded for it to stop, it would--Alphonse allowed his body and mind to drift into a peace they had never felt before, losing himself to that bliss, warm and safe in another's arms.  
It could almost, for the first time, be called making love.  
At length their pace and their breathing grew swifter, Asmodeus beginning to arch slowly above him as Alphonse mirrored him beneath. The pulsing heat inside both of them grew stronger, stronger, stronger, yearning to burst free. White beads bubbled up out of Alphonse's cock, sticky and warm when they touched the emperor's belly.  
At that indication of Alphonse's readiness, Asmodeus moved his hips more strongly, one deep thrust following another, both his cries and Alphonse's rising to a head. And then-1  
\--Without warning, Asmodeus pressed forward, his and Alphonse's lips meeting once more. The boy's eyes snapped open, in shock, but as Asmodeus' hands stroked his face and his good side, as his heartbeat came warm and steady against his own, Alphonse's eyes slowly drifted closed. The emperor's kiss was powerful, possessive, but still a thousand times more gentle than the boy had ever known. Alphonse knew he could turn away from it without punishment if he so chose. And yet instead he opened his mouth all the more, tongue timidly but willingly meeting another, answering the kiss.  
Asmodeus bore his hips once more strongly against Alphonse's own, striking deep, and at that fullest of intrusions Alphonse came, pouring his seed upon the other even as he was filled, the two's cries rising and mingling together in the stillness.  
A few minutes later, when both had regained themselves, Asmodeus shifted and made himself comfortable at the boy's side. He sighed, stroking his hair and breathing deep.  
"You smell so sweet... is that how the world smells, when it is always green?"  
The emperor watched amused as the color rose to the boy's cheeks once more at his words. They had just made love, and still the boy blushed at such a simple thing as calling him sweet?  
Alphonse was still struggling to catch his breath, skin still tingly and warm, covered thinly with sweat.  
"Green...green smells like many things...but they are all wonderful smells..."He said quietly. His eyes strayed to the roof, avoiding the sight of his own white smeared belly.  
"You have a garden, emperor, do you never walk upon it?" He asked, grimacing at the memories that such a place brought to him.  
The emperor didn't answer him. For a moment Alphonse wondered if the man had somehow not heard him, despite their closeness, and he turned his head towards him--only to stare.  
There was pain on the emperor's face, fresh and bitter, there for no reason Alphonse could fathom. He wondered if he had said something dangerously wrong. The question of whether or not to press further stormed in his mind; what could go worse, showing concern and probing further into some wound, or not asking and seeming as if he simply didn't care...?  
"Once."  
So softly said that Alphonse wasn't sure he'd actually heard anything until the man kept speaking.  
"My wife used to enjoy it, up to the very day she was murdered in it."  
The emperor looked away. He didn't move for a moment, and when he did, it was to move wordlessly out of the bed and into the bathroom.  
The emperor scrubbed at his skin, washing the sweat off rapidly, wanting to be done. He paused as he felt a hand pressed softly against his back. He had not heard the boy come in, much less get in the water with him.  
"I'm sorry...I didn't know..."  
The emperor was quiet for a moment, before answering very softly. "It's alright... It was a long time ago"  
"...To be honest, I don't have fond memories of your garden either...but if she was as fond of it as you say, she must have been a wonderful person"  
The emperor turned to him at that, saw a sad little smile adorning the blonde's face  
"She was," he answered, simply.  
The emperor went quiet again. Alphonse, once more, wondered whether silence or speech was best, but in the end he was saved from either as Asmodeus suddenly turned, tugging him gently down beside him, and began to wash his hair.  
"...She was a slave from the greenlands, like you. That first time Raphael brought you here, and I caught your scent, for a moment... I thought she was here, hiding somewhere, just out of sight."  
Alphonse was thankful, at that moment, that he was turned away from the emperor, his face hidden out of sight.  
A slave from the greenlands. A person, from the greenlands, dragged like him into this hell. Had Asmodeus been the first one to own her? Or had he snatched her from another as he had done with him?  
Either way, just like him, she must have been broken into obedience.  
He imagined it had happened the same way as with him. She had struggled, she had suffered, and then she had learned to survive, somehow still clinging to the hope that she would see green again. No wonder she enjoyed the garden. Did she think of home when she saw it?  
It was all so clear now. The emperor's sweet words and attentions, a small patch of green, more than she hoped to ever have again, it must have been enough to buy her affection.  
The same had worked on him.  
You can leave, you can say no.  
He couldn't. Raphael's words returned to him, a sickness, whispering in his ear. He could see him grinning at him in disdain. A few kind words and you happily sucked his cock, you little whore.  
"I...did she ever...spoke of home?"  
"Often. We used to talk about leaving this world behind, grabbing some horses and supplies and slipping off in the middle of the night. I was serious; she wasn't. As much as she wanted to go north again, she said she couldn't leave here, turn her back on all those suffering when she could help them. Together, we struck down slavery, and many other cruel things."  
His hands moved to Alphonse's shoulders, working soap into his skin even as his mind was lost in memory.  
"She always had more fire in her than I did. When I first saw her, she had managed to get her hand on a sword, and was holding off her master and his men even though she had no training at all. She brandished it at me, too, when I came over to help."  
He laughed softly, humorlessly.  
"She didn't have a sword when the men came. She was working in the gardens. The soldiers on guard didn't like having lost their slaves any more than her attackers did. They let them just... right on in..."  
Alphonse felt the man's hands shaking. He was no longer even going through the motions of cleaning him.  
"After... she was... gone... Raphael came to me and offered to protect the borders. He believed in justice, then. I did not anymore. I let all the old evils creep back in and I laughed as I watched him fall into depravity right beside me. If Katrina saw me now, she would kill me."  
He stared off into the mist rising off the water.  
"When I thought I smelled her, I hoped she would."  
He was startled out of his trance as he felt the boy shudder in his hold--violently.  
"S-stop...I am n-not your wife--I am n-nothing like your wife"  
Alphonse wrapped his arms around himself and Asmodeus heard him sobbing.  
"I kicked and screamed for three days--three days!--there was no fight--there never was!"  
"T-the things he d-did...H-he made me his w-whore in t-three days. T-that is all I a-am, t-that is all I'll b-be" He sobbed, burying his face in his hands and breaking down in the emperor's hold.  
"I-I can't e-even catch the scent of h-home without t-thinking of h-him"  
The emperor's arms were suddenly around him, fiercely, even as he cradled him around the arms to spare his ribs.  
"You chose to fight!"  
Another wretched sob left the blond in his arms.  
"I chose to f-fight Luke to g-go with him!"  
"You chose to stay with your abuser to spare your family the same fate! Does that smell of cowardice to you? And then, when that choice was denied you, ribs broken, properly fed and clothed for the first time in days, you asked not to rest in peace and comfort, but to learn to fight! To resist! Does THAT smell of cowardice to you?"  
The emperor drew him all the closer, face buried in his hair.  
"I know next to nothing of what you have suffered, or what shames haunt your sleep. But I know that strength is marked not by how many times one falls, but by how many times one stands. Raphael and I fell, Alphonse, but you stood."  
The blond had no words to answer him, so instead he answered with sobs, crying against his chest just as brokenly as he had the night he had begged him not to let Raphael take him.  
Asmodeus held the boy for long, stroking his hair and his chest, but when the boy would not stop crying he carried him out of the basin, drying him and carrying him to the bed, still sobbing.  
The emperor tucked the blankets gently in around the boy's shaking form, and then lay down quietly beside him. There was nothing more to be said, and so he said nothing, simply holding the boy close until his cries faded into the exhausted escape of sleep.

Luke, meanwhile, was suffering his own conflictions.  
When Alphonse had raced out, Luke had tried to go after him--only to almost fall when Prince attached himself to his leg, wailing as if he'd been stabbed. By the time Luke had managed to convince him to let go, Alphonse and Asmodeus were out of sight.  
That left Luke, alone, with Prince, the younger boy sobbing hysterically while Luke wondered in horror if it was his frightened glance that had triggered Alphonse to yet again sacrifice himself  
Perhaps it was Prince's crying, and his own thoughts, that kept him from seeing the danger until it was too late.  
The door slammed open; a nervous servant, squawking outside, was shoved aside by a massive hulking monster of a man. He, and two others just like him, surged into the room and loomed tall over them all.  
Luke threw Prince instinctively behind himself, pressing into the corner, heart hammering. His fears had been confirmed; Asmodeus had all too quickly changed his tune when he'd been denied what he wanted. He was no better than Raphael.  
"Ha ha HA! Guess who, you dirty whore!"  
A small, squeaky, familiar voice rang out from the middle of the hulking trio, and a moment later a young dark haired boy popped out, grinning fiercely. Luke snarled; it was the perverted young prince who had tried to drag Alphonse off when they'd been chained together outside Raphael's room  
"Uncle told me to stay away from you, but he can go fuck himself! I saw you first, so IM the one who should have you--so you're mine! Now where is the pretty one? I want him to suck my dick first!"  
Prince let out a sad little squeak as he was shoved backwards, wondering what the fuss was about, but as the hulking men entered the room, he hid willingly behind the older boy, clinging to his clothes as he peered over his shoulders with wide eyes.  
His eyes were not focused on the smaller shape that had entered the room. Instead, his fear was directed at the hulking figures that accompanied him.  
He had seen men like those—taken men like those—on the streets, on his knees, sobbing.  
Then the little prince had asked his question, and his eyes had strayed to him instead.  
He's with the emperor. The thought came to him, a straight answer.  
"He's in the g-garden, he l-likes to see the p-plants" He said, voice weak. A lie that would lead the men away instead of leaving them with no choice but to settle with what was in front of them.  
"I should've known. I saw that slut out there last time, he was hot--"  
The boy blinked, then narrowed his eyes.  
"Hey, who said that?"  
Luke pressed Prince even harder back against the wall, hissing.  
"If you touch him--either of them--I'm sure the emperor won't be pleased with you."  
The little one waved his hand dismissively.  
"Yah yah yah. Now move, I want to see who spoke. He sounds cute."  
"I-I'm not!" The boy grunted, trying to sound as uncut as possible while he hid entirely behind Luke.  
The boy yawned, gestured.  
All at once the three men surged forward; Luke screamed, snarled, bit, but he was easily ripped away, held under a muscled arm and his mouth covered when he tried to cry for help. This left Prince cowering alone in the corner, and the boy very much liked what he saw.  
"Ha, you're so small! And pretty. You'll do. Get over here and suck me."  
So as to not leave any doubt as to what he wanted sucked, the brat promptly unbuttoned his pants, loosing a dick that was both quite small and quite hard.  
The servant cried out, pleading, from outside the door--outside, because the thick back of one of the men was barring the way inside.  
"Please, Prince Ezekiel, the emperor specifically ordered that they be left alone--"  
The boy--Ezekiel--snapped his fingers. The hulk in the door turned around the servant who, squeaking, was given the same treatment as Luke.  
Oh, well, that wasn't so bad! Even if the little prince insisted on riding him afterwards, he did not think it would hurt much.  
The boy got to his feet, gazing towards Luke as he let out a muffled scream, shook his head, looking at him with wide horrified eyes.  
"I-It's alright Luke, I can do this" He peeped, smiling reassuringly at him before he walked forward, towards the Prince.  
Prince dropped to his knees unceremoniously, holding onto the other's hips and licking his lips before he leaned forward.  
The prince came in his mouth in less than a minute, left Prince blinking at him as he swallowed and licked his lips clean, watching his now crumpled form on the floor.  
"Should I do it again or…?"  
Ezekiel didn't answer; his body was still going through the motions, hips jerking softly, eyes glazed over as he panted.  
Rivers and dragons, what WAS this slut? This wonderful slut with the magic mouth? The young Prince had had his cock sucked many thousands of times, but this, this...!  
In response to Prince's question, the boy got shakily to his feet and stuck his cock once more between his lips, crying out and clinging to him and riding his mouth in pleasure.  
When that finished--again less than a minute later--Ezekiel drew back, panting.  
"T-This one. I want this one. Take me to my room."  
"Prince, what about the others?"  
"Oh j-just--leave them."  
Luke and the servant were dropped unceremoniously; Prince and real Prince were scooped up in strong arms, carried off at swift pace. Luke, gasping, cried out to the servant.  
"G-Get the emperor, please, those men will kill him!"

Prince, meanwhile, was laid down on a silky bed in an ornately furnished room, and Ezekiel was laid down on top of him. The boy wasted no time, nimble fingers jerking off Prince's pants and his own before he sat upon him, grinding his ass down atop him and panting.  
"I-Inside, hurry."  
The little blond moaned and arched beneath him at that. Ah, good, if the boy wanted to be ridden instead of ridding him, even better! He could perform without getting hurt!  
And besides…it had been so long since he had been touched lovingly—days even! The last one to touch him had been the warlord, and now he was gone, and no one seemed to think he was worth touching anymore…no one but the little prince, beautiful and wanting and arching atop him.  
As part of his training he had been taught that, if he was a good enough slave, the day might come when he was big enough to be asked to ride instead of be ridden, and so he and all the others had been trained accordingly, although only briefly.  
His mind went rapidly over such training. His own cock was already hard with need at the sight and feel of the prince rubbing against him, but that was not what went first.  
Ezekiel arched and cried out as a finger went inside him—then another—and a third. Ah, well, despite his size, it seemed the prince was well experienced and prepared, would be ready to take him then and there and still…he lingered, twisting his fingers this way and that, teasing the other boy with his touched, pushing deep and then—retreating entirely.  
The prince cried out unhappily, pressing down against him more tightly.  
"INSIIIIIIIDDDDE!"  
Prince grabbed his hips firmly, keeping him from pushing anymore.  
"I will, I will! But you have to be patient, ok?"  
The other boy hissed shakily, but did in fact stop pushing against him. Prince told him he was a good boy, then pulled him firmly onto his cock, twisting his hips against him as the two of them cried out.  
Prince's cock wasn't half as large as those Ezekiel was used to taking, but it didn't matter. The boy's lips had ravaged him in a way he'd never felt before, and at that moment, intoxicated by orgasm, having something hard and hot to grind his tortured body down on was all that mattered. He cried out in open bliss, clutching to the blonde and shaking before he pressed forward to kiss him. Prince returned the gesture gladly--and at the same time rolled forward, putting the Prince beneath him, letting him thrust deeper. Ezekiel came within seconds, but both kept going.  
His servants, meanwhile, were more than aroused by the beautiful display before them. Thick fingers found their thick cocks and, when that wasn't enough, the three lined up and simply started rutting   
The prince was--not very tight, but to Prince it mattered little. He was warm and soft around him, sweet to the taste, but more important than all that, he wanted him. That, above all else, brought joy to Prince's heart above any he had felt in recent days. It was like...like being rescued again.  
His hips moved out of instinct as he pressed time and time again against the one beneath him, muffling both of their cries in a heated kiss. His fingers moved as well, one hand stroking the young royal's flesh, stroking and teasing as they fucked upon that plush bed.  
Ezekiel released twice against his belly before Prince reached his own peak, the slave used to partners with a higher resistance, ones he had to match.  
The two arched as the blond reached that peak, letting go of the royal's lips to cry out freely instead.  
When it was done, he crumpled against Ezekiel, panting softly--but only briefly. His cock was still hard and cradled inside him, and he moved to nuzzle the other with a smile. Would you like to go again, prince?  
The young prince kept panting, sides trembling and flaked in sweat, tiny cock hard beneath his legs, generous amounts of cum smeared across both his stomach and Prince's. The blonde thought he looked absolutely beautiful. This, he thought excitedly, this is it, this will be my new master, and I'll please him so much he'll keep me forever and ever.  
Ezekiel leaned forward to kiss Prince, possessive and demanding in that gesture despite his small size.  
"You're mine."  
Yes, yes! Prince's heart called out excitedly.  
That was when Ezekiel suddenly disentangled himself from Prince, however. He scurried over to the edge of the bed, turning upon his belly and raising his ass. He patted the blankets beside him, urging Prince to follow.  
"Come here, pet, you are going to love this. Hung, Hardy, you're up. Sorry, Hugh, you're on guard duty."  
One of the thick men sobbed sadly and left the room. The other two crowded alongside the bed, grinning, pulling a vial of lube off the nearby bed stand and beginning to lather their powerful cocks in it. One of them moved to stand behind Ezekiel; the other stood expectantly where Prince had been gestured to go, smiling benevolently at him.  
But the blond did not excitedly bound forward at that. Instead  
Instead looked at the expectant man with terrified eyes, slowly shaking his head as he whimpered.  
He turned his back away from the man, planting his backside against the bed.  
"P-please no master--I can't! I'm hurt!" He pleaded, although never taking his eyes off the bigger man.  
"What do you mean, you're hurt? You look fine to me," Ezekiel snapped, irate. Prince whimpered and slowly, reluctantly, turned his rear towards the young lord--always keeping it well away from the man, showing him the raw red flesh that had still not healed from the tortures of constant and aggressive rape.  
Ezekiel grabbed the boy's buttocks in both hands, examining him closely, and then sighed.  
"Fineee, you can just suck my dick instead. Hardy, get out."  
The man who had been waiting for Prince left as disraughtly as the other one had, while the remaining victor looked all the more smug. Ezekiel leaned forward on the bed, flexing, and at that signal the man finally penetrated him, riding his ass with powerful gusto even as Ezekiel gave voice to nothing but pure raw bliss.  
Prince blabbered many praises and thanks to his new master for his mercy, but the Prince did not care at the moment about any such words--was not even conscious of being spoken to at all.  
As such, Prince decided to thank his master with obedience instead, moving towards the two rocking bodies and briefly examining their position, wondering how to best proceed. A moment later he dropped against the bed, crawling on the space between their legs and flipping around so that he laid on his back.  
The prince had told him to suckle, but due to their fast pacing he decided it would be better to lap at him instead. He took a moment to admire his body from beneath--both his and the bigger man's, his size so big he could even see him as he moved within the Prince!  
Prince let out a longing whimper. Ah, if only he wasn't so hurt...  
He abruptly shook his head at the thought. No! He couldn't be thinking of his own pleasure now! He had a job to do!  
A moment later he set out to work, craning his neck to lick at the Prince's bobbing manhood in time with his thrusts, one hand reaching out to squeeze and massage his sacs while another hand reached even further to do the same with the man pounding wildly behind him.  
At his administrations both prince and servant cried out in beautiful tongues; Ezekiel had been expecting the touch, but was still overwhelmed by it, and the larger man, not expecting any extra attention at all, was so delighted that his thrusts grew all the stronger. Prince was rewarded in short order with a spray of white, all over his face and chest, and then another, and then another...  
Several minutes later, when the prince's small body could no longer keep pace with his lust, both he and his servant collapsed, panting, alongside Prince on the bed. The servant, recovering sooner than his lord, reached out and patted Prince fondly on the head, the boy purring happily in answer.  
Then Ezekiel regained his breath, scurried happily further up on the blankets, wrapping his arms and legs possessively around Prince. His servant followed, encircling both small boys in strong arms and letting out a dreamy sigh before drifting off to sleep. Ezekiel, however, spoke, words coming out slowly between a happy yawn.  
"You're a good pet... nothing like those stupid whores... A real professional. I like you, I like you a lot."  
The boy wrapped his arm in turn back around the prince, purring happily and nuzzling at him, happy to have already discarded his freedom.  
"Thank you master! I like you a lot too!"  
He was so happy he even kissed his little master without permission, and was delighted to have his master kiss him back!  
Ah, for the first time since he had been taken from his first master, he felt loved again...  
Craddling one another, and in the safety of the powerful servant's arms, the two boys closed their eyes as they laid together, and drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"Alphonse."  
The boy stirred slowly, woke to see the emperor already up and dressed, stroking his hair gently to rouse him. The little blonde shook himself and accepted the offered clothing with a murmur of thanks.  
After that Asmodeus led him back down the long hallways--but not the way he was used to going. Instead they meandered deeper and deeper into the heart of the castle, until at last they reached a broad door leading out. The emperor pushed it open, Alphonse following close behind, and he was impressed with what he saw.  
The emperor had had close to three thousand men assembled when he had confronted Raphael. Now about two thousand more stood assembled before them, sparring, drilling, trying their hands at one weapon after another. Asmodeus let out a pleased grunt.  
"Drafted men. Between them and our men stationed elsewhere in the country, we'll have about seven thousand men to Raphael's three thousand. Of course, he might pick up a few more along the way, but I doubt he'll get more than four thousand at best.  
The emperor gestured farther out, now; Alphonse followed his eyes, looking upon the city without a window between them for the first time since he had been saved. Great slabs of stone were being hoisted up in the distance, teams of men hauling rock from the river and baking steel hard brick out of the bountiful mud as they prepared walls for siege. Less visible was men building pits, lined with sharp shrapnel and fragments of steel.  
"Just a little something to help slow him down." Asmodeus said, grim but pleased all the same. At last he turned to look down at Alphonse.  
"There is still far too much to be done, though, so I'll take my leave now. Go down and join the soldiers--if anyone gives you trouble, show them this."  
Asmodeus reached out, pressing a small metal ring into Alphonse's hands. It was formed by the coiled bodies of two great dragons, clutching an emerald in their jaws.  
"Just take care not to injure yourself. You won't be doing any fighting at all if you wreck your ribs while learning. I'll have food and your companion sent down to you later."  
The emperor nodded, Alphonse nodding in return, and then the man stepped off briskly.  
Alphonse watched the emperor go until he was out of sight, his eyes then straying to the ring in his hand. It bore the emperor's sigil, the same one that marked the throne room's door. He slipped the ring into one of his fingers so he wouldn't lose it, and then raised his eyes to look around the place.  
It was full of men practicing and drilling, divided into different weapons or choices of combat.He began walking as he looked around--wincing as he wached the men clash against each other. He instinctively raised a hand to his own ribs.  
He was much smaller than any other man he could see there, and he doubted they had any weapons or armor his size. He would not be able to practice with them, unless...  
His eyes fixed on the archers, practicing on the farthest end of the courtyard. They worse no armor, and did not crash into one another, weapons looking light in their hands.  
After fast pacing, then running—dodging a few horse kicks and lunging soldiers—he made it, he finally made it, and then…then he stood there, watching as soldiers stood in line and shot as instructed.  
Now…now what? Would he just….ask?  
"Um…e-excuse me…" He did not know if the soldiers ignored him or simply did not hear him, but he took a step forward, trying again.  
"Excuse me sir!"  
Again no answer. His hands balled into fists.  
"SIR! EXCUSE ME!"  
It was the loudest he had raised his voice in months—other than the times he was screaming in pain. His voice surprised even him, and apparently the soldiers as well, who either finally heard him, or could not feign to ignore him any longer.  
For a moment he stood there as if frozen in terror, but then he gathered the courage to speak again, addressing the man who had been instructing the others.  
"I'd like to learn how to shoot….I want to help"  
The instructor stared at him with as much bewilderment as if he were a talking mouse. The other soldiers--mostly young men--lowered their bows to stare as well. A few started whispering among each other, sniggering a little.  
At length the instructor crouched slightly, resting his hands on his knees and bending down closer to the boy.  
"That's mighty brave of you, son, but we're looking for soldiers of a bigger stature than you are. Why don't you see if they need help digging the ditches?"  
At this a few of the soldiers in training could no longer suppress their laughter. A few bent straight over, wheezing.  
The instructor, meanwhile, scratched his hair.  
"Err, you are a boy, aren't you?"  
He did not answer his question. Instead he glared silently for a long moment, shaking. He drew a deep breath, then spoke again, slowly and clearly.  
"I can't dig trenches, but I can hold a bow. I've seen smaller boys shoot better than half your students. When the warlord comes in a month, you will need all the help you can get. So will you teach me, sir"  
A vein pulsed in the man's forehead. He straightened up, as if to bring his full height to bear against the insolent child.  
"I'll teach you, alright. Teach you manners, you impudent little--"  
"Problem, Captain Gariel?"  
The man went cherry red and then bone white, saluting.  
"No, general sir! This boy was just--"  
"Asking to learn?"  
The captain remained silent. Alphonse turned, although he had thought he recognized the voice; it was the white haired general from before, the one who had overseen his rescue at Asmodeus' side. Despite his young age he bore himself with stern confidence, not arrogant, but trusting of himself. Those blue eyes gave the same impression; in some ways they felt old, every bit as sharp and experienced as Asmodeus'z  
"We will take every able man--or woman--we can, Gariel. We are readying not for some petty border dispute, but for full out war. If the desert dog wins, the few of us left alive will soon wish we won't be. Do you understand?"  
"Yes, general, sir."  
"If I hear another report of you turning away willing recruits, I will have you removed to the walls. Am I clear?"  
"Yes, general sir."  
"Excellent. Considering that I recall you almost failed out of training yourself, I cannot fathom why you insist on giving others so much trouble."  
"Yes, general... Sir..."  
Seth turned towards Alphonse then, offered him a brief smile.  
"Train hard, soldier."  
Then he walked on, beginning to resume a discussion with a few other high ranking men that they'd been engrossed in before passing by.  
Alphonse watched him go, his expression softening back to the previous uncertainty from before, the anger gone. He'd wanted to thank the general, but he was gone before he could say a word.  
He was reluctantly given a bow and a quiver full of arrows, a dummy to shoot at, and was set at the end of the line.  
The instructor began giving once more instructions on what position they should hold, how to hold both bow and arrow, to focus on their target, and then went one by one making revisions. He was the last one, but it did not bother him. the delay gave him time enough to find a way to move without hurting himself, and when the general came over to fix his stance, there were very few changes.  
Even then, the murmurs continued, but he paid them no mind. He was not here for them.  
With all stances fixed, the captain gave the order for them to shoot.  
Alphonse took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the target, and as he let go of the arrow, he thought of Raphael.  
His arrow missed the dummy, but not by much, clattering harmlessly against the wall behind it. It's alright, he told himself, you still have a month.  
The training dragged on and on under the hot sun. The other soldiers began to show signs of disinterest, one by one, slouching, not making efforts to hold their bows correctly, eyes straying around as they waited for the call for the afternoon meal. But Alphonse's attention never wavered. Eyes narrowed, he shot again and again and again, always thinking of the target as Raphael, the mark in the centerpiece as his heart. And again and again, he missed. He could almost hear the warlord's laughter.  
The captain was growing as irritable with his men as they were with him, his yelling growing louder as they began to make sloppy and careless mistakes. Alphonse did not, and so instead he taunted his aim, lurking around him like an oversized vulture and openly questioning whether such skinny arms could pull a bowstring with enough force to actually hit anything at a distance. Alphonse toned him out, one minded, but when he heard a more familiar voice he finally turned his head.  
"Alphonse... Alphonse!"  
Luke came running up the field, dodging around soldiers, finally skidding to a halt before him, panting. He was clutching a bundled cloth in his hand, presumably the promised food and drink.  
"Alphonse--are you a-alright? I was afraid--I thought he'd--"  
Alphonse's whole face had lit up at the sight of Luke, the boy lowering his bow as he turned to regard the other. But then Luke had finally reached him—and spoken. He visibly winced at his question, and his eyes strayed downwards and away.  
He turned away, facing the dummy once more as he raised the bow, drawing the string and aiming.  
I'm alright Luke, but practice isn't over yet. You should find some shade to sit under until then" He said softly, drawing another deep breath before he shot again, missing once more, and this time by a bigger margin than before.  
Without looking at the other blond, he reached for another arrow in his quiver, aimed again.  
"I will join you when I'm done"  
Luke looked at him in misery. The boy's lack of a true answer was all he really needed to know. On the other hand, it was a good sign that Alphonse was still in one piece, apparently unharmed; if he'd rejected Raphael's request that he join him, the man would have beaten him half to death. But it hardly mattered. With violence, without violence, the truth was that Alphonse was still not free.  
Despite Alphonse's words, the priest drew suddenly close, whispering in his ear so only he could hear.  
"We could run. We could steal some horses and food and run."  
Alphonse's arrow flew and pierced his neighbor's dummy by accident, the boy turning to look at the priest, his face twisted with an amalgam of emotions, and none of them good.  
The captain yelled at him, berating him for his carelessness, and Alphonse stiffly excused himself, leaving bow and quiver behind as he grabbed Luke by the arm, dragged him to a corner under the shade, far away from all the soldiers.  
"Run, Luke? Run?!"  
That was a hiss, the boy shaking as he said them.  
"Run—where?! Into the arms of some other monster of the desert??! into a sand dune to starve and die?! My ribs are broken Luke, I can barely run without holding my side—much less ride a horse!"  
The other blonde winced at his words, trembling, looking away as if ashamed.  
Alphonse hid his face behind his hands, drew a deep breath and shuddered, doing his best to calm himself.  
"There is no running for me…Raphael will follow me to the end of the world…I can't afford to run and die out there, you know this. You know that if he can't find me, he will find my brother. You know that if we make it home, he will find us both…"  
His hands, dropped, and he looked at the priest with anger—directed at himself.  
"The emperor is kind to me. He said I could go, and I c-chose to stay…this month might be our last chance at finding some small semblance of happiness, so live it wisely Luke…I've made my choice" With that Alphonse turned away from him, back towards the other soldiers, picking up his bow and quiver and taking back his stance.  
Luke said nothing. What could he say? The boy was right. Injured as he was, their chances of making it to the greenlands were desperately thin, even if they encountered no monsters in the desert.. and there were always monsters, there.  
Closing his eyes in defeat, Luke simply sat a ways away, waiting and watching until the horns blared the dinner signal and the men trooped away to the mess halls. Only then did Alphonse let his bow down, coming slowly over beside Luke and sitting. The priest opened the contents of his bag, revealing a variety of pastries stuffed with beef and strange vegetables, accompanied by a few jugs of fruit juice and some sweet candies.  
The two ate in silence, but when they had moved on to the candies, Luke spoke.  
"I'm sorry, Alphonse. You're right. We have no choice but to stay."  
Alphonse didn't say anything, because there wasn't anything to say, but then Luke continued.  
"So if we... have to be here... Do you want to explore the city once your practice is finished? I'm sure the emperor would lend us a few guards."  
Alphonse took another bite of his apple pie, chewing it in silence. Alphonse was surprised to hear him Actually answer.  
"I would like that…"He took another bet, more silence. Then he paused, looking downwards.  
"I…I'm sorry that I snapped at you Luke…I know you're only worried about me…but you don't have to, really, I'm fine"  
Luke looked up at him as Alphonse's hands touched his, the younger boy gently squeezing his fingers and smiling softly at him.  
Luke returned the smile weakly, even though he didn't feel it.  
"Think nothing of it."  
They finished their food without another word spoken, and then the other soldiers began to drift back from their meals, returning to their stations. Alphonse stood to resume his work as well, and Luke excused himself to see about finding a few guards to accompany them.  
Hours passed. By the end of it Alphonse's arms were sore and shaking, but his aim had scarcely increased. The meal bell rang again, this time signifying day's end as well as supper, and the men began to trot off, not hiding their jeers as they passed the smaller boy.  
Luke came out shortly to meet him, escorted by two armed, powerful looking men and carrying a small bag of gold on his hip. It seemed the emperor had told his servants to set aside a daily dividend for them, enough to both cover meals and some luxuries.  
With arrangements thus made, the two set out. The city was not called the jewel of the twin rivers without reason; marvelous towers pierced the sky, elaborate mansions that housed fine arts and fine teachings, ancient churches devoted to the worship of the waters and the dragons, and everywhere magnificent fountains threw cool water into the air, drawing their strength from the rivers and then dutifully returning what washed down their silver basins.  
Also everywhere were the street vendors, hawking wares of every imaginable kind; sweet foods and fine jewelry, spices and books, rugs and weapons, and...  
Slaves, also. Alphonse and Luke both drew silently to a pause then, not going any closer to the huddled, miserable, naked shadows, so familiar in their brokenness.  
Most were of mixed ages and appearances, slaves meant to serve in households and behind closed doors, but there were a few stalls where the slaves were different. These booths were far more elaborate than the others, stinking of exotic perfumes, and the slaves within them were lavishly dressed, beautiful and... smiling. They looked happy. Wide, shallow, cheerful eyes stared out at them, oblivious to a life outside of slavery. Above, written in elegant script, was a sign declaring them as "jewels" of various colors...  
"God, this is what Prince is," Luke whispered, horrified.  
Luke's eyes strayed away as he felt a tug on his sleeve, looked down at Alphonse's whose eyes were fixed on the floor.  
"Let's go back Luke...we shouldn't have come here"  
He had forgotten, his mind elsewhere at the moment, but Raphael had already brought him to look at the city, when they'd found Prince himself on the streets. He had not been paying attention then, but he had now. The city for all its beauty, was built over the back of its slaves. It was a place only the masters and free men could enjoy, and he was none of those things.  
"Maybe we can go see the emperor's garden instead..." He murmured, thinking that although the place was tainted for him, it might still hold value to the other boy.  
"Let's just... let's just go back to the room." Luke croaked, voice hoarse. He'd examined the contents of their purse as soon as he'd been given it, and he didn't need to look twice to realize it wasn't enough to save even the cheapest of the working slaves on display. There was nothing they could do for them.  
Face half buried in his hand, he and Alphonse turned together, more stumbling than walking back towards the castle. With their minds and visions obscured, they didn't notice the cloaked figure coming from the other direction, gaze focused intently on the faces of the varying slaves.  
The two parties collided with a bang. Luke barely kept his balance, grabbing Alphonse to stabilize him, while the other man staggered but quickly regained himself, looking up.  
"My apologies--"  
Luke stared. The man stared. Alphonse saw no reason for the two to be so intent on each other; he had never seen the other man before, looking about the same age as Luke, but with dark hair and lilac eyes and a sterner face. He was staring at Luke as if he was a dragon.  
"Luke." A mere whisper. Luke sobbed.  
"Thomas... T-Thomas!"  
The two surged abruptly forward, clinging to one another, sobbing without restraint.  
Alphonse stepped back, giving the two space as he watched them with wide eyes.  
He did not know what was happening, but he could guess. Like him, Luke had been stolen from home, dragged away from his family to become a slave, and this man... He had been looking at the slaves in displays, looking for him, and somehow, in the midst of this awful hell, he had found him safe and well and free.  
Alphonse's chest ached, and although he had no reason to, he felt warm tears leap to his eyes. So miracles could still happen, even in hell...  
The two simply held one another for several minutes longer, their cries eventually subsiding into stunned silence, relief and pain and joy all twisted up together. The newcomer--Thomas--was the first to draw back, just enough to speak.  
"Luke h-how--where--I looked everywhere, everywhere for y-you."  
"We were in the desert--that monster Raphael had u-us--but the emperor set us free. But you, T-Thomas, why are you here? Did they--did they catch you t-too?"  
His voice broke at the very thought, but Thomas shook his head.  
"No, no--they never caught me. I came here myself, chasing after you, and I've been looking ever since... but let's not talk here. Come with me."  
Luke glanced hastily back at Alphonse, the boy nodding to show his agreement, both he and their guards following along. They only took a few stops before Thomas stopped suddenly, gesturing at two slaves--a young girl and a young boy, clutching one another, and similar enough in appearance to suggest siblings--and tossing a bag of money at the greasy seller. The two slaves were ushered forward, eyes wide with fear; Thomas drew a knife, cutting the ropes that held them before reaching into a bag slung across his back and offering them each a simple robe to wear. They stared up at him in confusion, and he smiled weakly.  
"You're free. Come with me, though, please."  
The procession continued then, along the streets until they drew up to a cozy looking bakery from which truly delightful smells were emanating. Thomas led them inside, and was immediately greeted by a chorus of cheerful voices.  
"Welcome back, master Thomas!"  
"I SAID not to call me that," he grumbled, before gently nudging his two new rescues towards one of the well dressed servants.  
"I have business to attend to, so can you please show them around, explain how this place works--"  
"Is that...?" One of the servants said, suddenly. All eyes peered intently now beyond Thomas, and he grinned even as the tears came again.  
"Yes... yes. This is my cousin, Luke."  
Cries of delight. More than one of the servants covered their mouths, beginning to weep, and even more surged forward, patting and stroking the blonde, telling him how hard Thomas had looked for him, how long he had searched--  
"No, no, THIS is my cousin," Thomas said, weakly. All heads popped up, and a moment later Alphonse had been abandoned, the servants streaming around Luke instead.  
When they had finally been pried off, Thomas led them further forward, behind the counter and into a private room at the back. There he slumped into a chair and gestured them to do the same. He opened his mouth then, shut it, repeated a few times.  
"I still can't... I can't believe it... I thought for sure you must be..."  
He rested his head heavily in his hands, shaking. Luke reached forward, touched his shoulder gently and smiled.  
"God saw us through. I'm just glad to see you're alright. I, too, feared that..."  
Both fell silent. When Thomas broke it he addressed Alphonse.  
"And, my apologies, but you are...?"  
"This is my companion, Alphonse. We were enslaved together... He saved me, more than once."  
Thomas leaned forward, extending a hand to the boy.  
"Words cannot thank you enough. If I can ever do anything for you, just ask, and I'll see it done."  
Alphonse had remained small and quiet ever since the two had found each other, simply staring and walking behind them.  
Even now as he was addressed, he looked down upon the table rather than at Thomas. He hesitated briefly, but then took the other man's hand.  
"Thank you but...Luke has done more for me than I could ever repay, if someone has been saved here, it is me"  
It was true, the blond had been his only companion, his anchor to sanity, the small hopeful voice that had given him enough strength to go on. The poor fool had even tried to fight Raphael whenever he had touched or hurt him.  
And now...now his journey was over.  
Suddenly, Alphonse's hand tightened around Thomas' and he looked up at him fiercely.  
"So please...please take him away--now, before the war starts! Take him back home and don't ever let him come back, p-please..."  
"I will," Thomas said, grimly, "but you're welcome to come as well."  
"He can't. I can't, either."  
Thomas looked up now, startled.  
"His ribs are broken--he can't ride a horse, and I won't leave him. I'm sorry, Thomas--"  
"We'll take a caravan! I wasn't planning to have us ride bareback under that damn sun the whole way home--"  
Thomas's voice cut off as Alphonse rose abruptly, shaking and glaring at Luke, hands balled into fists.  
"You promised me! You promised you wouldn't be stupid--you promised you wouldn't waste this chance! I can't go! I can't leave this place for as long as he lives--I can't be the reason he sets fire to the greenlands and butchers and enslaves every single being in there--but you--you stupid--y-you--"  
The tears had risen to his eyes, the boy choking on his own sobs.  
"Y-you're free! You can g-go! You can be happy--a-and you promised!"  
His face was hidden behind trembling fingers, which rubbed and wiped at his eyes, trying to get the tears off.  
And then suddenly, his shaking slowed down, stopped, and Alphonse was glaring at him again.  
"I w-won't let you... I w-won't let you waste this chance"  
"Alphonse..."  
"You have three days to gather your things and leave, or I will have the emperor kick you out of the city himself" He snapped, turning around and briskly leaving the room. The guards stationed around looked startled between him and Luke.  
"L-leave him" He said, walking at a brisker pace.  
They had been told to care for both, but still, their priority had always been Alphonse. A moment later they stepped after the boy, walking behind him as the blond walked towards the castle as fast as his feet could take him.  
Alphonse returned to his room faster then he would have thought possible. He went straight to his bed and collapsed there, shaking. Prince was nowhere to be seen, but Alphonse hardly cared and hardly noticed.  
Sending Luke away was the right thing to do... he knew it was... but the thought of being without the one who had stood by his side so long made his heart ache. He curled into a miserable ball, face tucked tight against his legs, sobbing freely.  
It wasn't until he felt hands gently shaking him that he startled out of his misery. The emperor was standing over him, alarmed.  
"Alphonse! Are you alright? Where is your companion? Did something happen?"  
At first the boy just stared at him, looking at him with confused eyes even as he kept sobbing, but then suddenly he surged forward, startling the warlord as he pressed himself against him and clung to his clothes, trembling as he shook his head against his chest.  
"L-Luke...he's g-going home"  
If anything, the blond sobbed harder as the words left him, and for a moment all he could do was hold onto him and sob. Asmodeus' held him close, saying nothing, reassuringly stroking his back.  
In time, Alphonse calmed down enough to speak again, his shaking lessening.  
"I...I n-never thought...a-any of us would m-make it... That we would go back...b-but he always did...and now h-he's going back home" He croaked, closing his eyes again, raising a hand to his chest.  
"I-I'm glad...so glad...b-but why does my h-happiness feel like this? Why does it h-hurt so m-much?"  
Asmodeus caressed his face, gentle, up the skin of his cheek and into his soft golden hair.  
"Partings always hurt. But don't weep, Alphonse. We will win this war, I promise you, and then I'll see to it that you can follow him home. You will see him again."  
Alphonse leaned willingly into the touch, sniffling. Asmodeus continued to stroke his face softly for a time before folding him fully into his arms.  
"But come, tell me, how was your training? Seth told me he saw you there... and that the men were giving you trouble."  
The emperor's eyes flashed, and he growled low.  
"Not too much trouble, I hope, or shall I have them removed to the ditches?"  
His sobs now subsided, the boy laid calmly in his arms, eyes red from crying but tears no longer flowing from him. He shook his head slowly against his chest once more.  
"They laughed at me for being small and weak...but they are right, I am small and weak...that's why I have to grow stronger..." He said very softly, closing his eyes, his mind gladly parting from the painful thoughts that Luke's memories brought him.  
"B-but it doesn't matter. The captain teaches us how to aim and shoot...my arms hurt so much...and I still haven't hit the dummy once...but there is still time..."  
Suddenly however he began trembling again, softly, tears leaping back into his eyes.  
"A-and...at least I w-wont be alone all d-day, if I practice with them..."  
Asmodeus sighed, nuzzling Alphonse gently.  
"I'm sorry, Alphonse. If things were different I would spend all day at your side, but as it is..."  
The man cocked his head then, thinking, even as he continued to stroke him.  
"At least your nights will not be lonely. And, if you wish, we can also take our meals together. Would that please you?"  
The boy in his lap said nothing, instead simply nodded softly against his chest.The emperor looked down, was pleased to find that his efforts had been enough to calm and reassure the blond.  
As a result, he had slowly relaxed in his hold, thoughts straying away from Luke and his absence, and letting the tiredness of a full day of practicing archery settle in in its stead.  
Eyes closed, the blond rested his head against the emperor's chest, one hand still curled lightly into his clothes while the other hung limply at his side.  
Asmodeus willingly relaxed against the boy in turn. His day, too, had been full; not with emotional sufferings, true, but with one strategy after another to evaluate and change and discard, preparations to be made, endlessly...  
He was exhausted, too. And so with a gentle sigh he moved to stretch out on his side, holding the boy close, the two drifting off together into sleep.

Morning, as always, came too early--all the more so because they were roused by a servant knocking at the door. Asmodeus bid him enter, straightening, and the man entered with a bow.  
"Emperor, there is a man here seeking audience with Alphonse. He says his name is Thomas and he would like to discuss yesterday's meeting in more detail."  
"Tell him I have nothing else to say to him, and that he should be spending his time on better things instead" The boy snapped angrily, suddenly very awake. He slid off the bed, walking briskly towards the bathroom and closing and locking the door behind himself...then sliding down to the floor and curling up, biting down on his lip to keep quiet as the tears rose to his eyes again.  
Asmodeus' voice came softly from behind the door.  
"Alphonse, who is that?"  
Alphonse whimpered, still curled up against the door.  
"It's...it's Luke's cousin...he's been looking for him...and now he'll take him home..."  
"Shall I send him away?"  
For a moment there was only silence, but then suddenly the door opened and Alphonse stood there, looking downwards as he gently shook his head.  
"I'll...I'll talk to him"  
Asmodeus quirked an eyebrow, wondering what had changed the boy's mind, but rather than saying anything he simply followed alongside him. If there was any issue, he could resolve it quickly enough--one way or the other.  
The servant stepped quickly aside to let them pass, and there, waiting in the corridor and kneeling, was Thomas. His eyes widened in shook at the emperor's appearance, and he inclined his head more steeply.  
"Your majesty. Alphonse."  
"Speak."  
"Alphonse, I would like to discuss circumstances in our homeland with you. I believe much has changed in your absence of which you are unaware. If possible, I would wish to speak with you privately, with your majesty's permission."  
Asmodeus did not like very permissive, frowning. Still, he looked down at Alphonse rather than issuing a verdict.  
"This discussion is between yourself and him. It is your choice, Alphonse."  
Alphonse demeanor had changed entirely--he looked worried rather than miserable.  
A moment later he had grabbed Thomas's hands, pulling him to his feet and hauling him to the bedroom, the door closing behind them. He turned around swiftly to face Thomas.  
"W-what do you mean things have changed--what's happened?!"  
Thomas raised a hand.  
"Breathe. Nothing horrid."  
Alphonse still felt like he was choking on air. He wrapped his arms right around himself, steadying his shaking. Thomas continued.  
"After Luke was taken, my chase after him led me through a few other villages--one of which I believe was yours. Both your parents had the same color hair as you, and they spoke of abducted twins..."  
Alphonse looked as if he had just stabbed him, face pale, eyes wide and blank.  
"N-no"  
He shook like a leaf, falling against the wall and sliding down, staring past Thomas, past the furniture and walls.  
"N-no no no no no--"  
His breath caught in his throath, choking, the boy clawing at his neck and chest as if some invisible force was choking him, struggling to draw breath.  
No. Why? Why?! Twins--it had to be them--it had to be HIM. They had taken them together, he'd been doomed from the very beginning, sold by the same people as him.  
Again Raphael's words returned to him, telling him he should consider himself lucky to have been bought by him, speaking of the horrors those other faces would have brought to him.  
At best, his brother was dead, and at worst, he was someone else's whore, beaten and fucked every horrid, waking minute of his miserable life--  
He screamed.  
Thomas blinked, bewildered, not at all understanding; surely the boy must have known his brother was taken? His parents had said they had both been taken at the same time--  
The door slammed open, crunching, wood splintering around the hinges. Asmodeus lunged forward, snarling, slamming Thomas against the wall, knife raised--  
The knife came down, sinking harshly into the wall, the emperor barely avoiding the blond as he threw himself between them, clinging to Thomas even as he kept on sobbing disconsolately.  
He did not say a word, instead sunk against the other, a broken little thing struggling to breathe.  
Asmodeus moved again with vicious speed--he grabbed Alphonse, prying him away from Thomas by slamming a foot into the latter and using him for leverage, pulling Alphonse close and stepping back even as he kept his blade pointed at the intruder.  
"What did you do to him?!"  
"I don't... I don't know..."  
The emperor's eyes flashed. A few guards came charging in; Asmodeus barked for them to seize Thomas, then turned to Alphonse, anxious. He stared at him clutching his throat and gasping, and his eyes widened.  
"Fuck--fuck!"  
He scooped the boy up and ran--into the bathroom, slamming the door and kicking the far wall.  
"Hot water, now, and bring hot tea, NOW--"  
The water obediently poured into the tub, steaming. Asmodeus crouched there as the heat rolled up in clouds around them, gently rocking the boy in his arms.  
"Breathe, Alphonse, breathe--look at me, look at me, keep breathing, nice and deep, come on, Alphonse, you can do it--"  
Breathe? Why bother? His brother was lost, there was no reason for him to keep breathing...for him to suffer. He closed his eyes. Asmodeus watched as the boy began going limp in his hold, eyes closed.  
No, no, there was still a reason. Raphael had promised to hunt down his family, all and each of them. He couldn't let them. He had to tell Thomas to run and warn them, take Luke and run and tell them to run to, anywhere.  
He opened his eyes again, fighting for every breath of warm air to fill his lungs.  
Slowly he drew more and more, and with his breath still ragged he drew breath, spoke.  
"T-Thomas...Thonas g-go...my family...t-tell them to g-go...far...quickly" He choked, crumpling down on the emperor's arms once again and closing his eyes--his chest thankfully still rising and falling.  
Tell--that bastard? The only thing Asmodeus wanted to tell him at that moment was how much he would enjoy his screams. As it was, however, he simply remained quiet, cradling the boy in the warm water until servants and doctors both arrived. Alphonse was prompted to drink something--tea--and it loosened the tightness in his lungs still further. Various eyes and hands ran over him until it was determined that his breathing had stabilized. Then Asmodeus finally stood, royal robes dripping with water, and carried Alphonse from the tub.  
No sooner had he done so than the guards entered, throwing Thomas, with arms bound, roughly to the ground and pinning his head there. He looked up as Alphonse spoke, voice shaking but breathing strong.  
"Y-You have to tell my family to run, take Luke and go, go n-now--"  
"They already left."  
Thomas eyed the emperor, apprehensive, and seemed to decide not to say anything else.  
The boy looked at him as if lost, as if unable to understand what he was saying.  
"W-where?"  
Thomas didn't answer. Asmodeus hissed; the guard ground Thomas' head all the more fiercely into the ground. He simply closed his eyes.  
"Answer, or I'll cut your fingers off one by one!"  
"I'll tell you, Alphonse, but ONLY you." Thomas said, slow.  
Alphonse seemed to regain some sense of where he was all of a sudden, whimpering.  
"I-I understand...p-please don't hurt him, he has done nothing wrong and...a-at least L-Luke can still be happy" He croaked, sobbing  
He turned to Asmodeus, looking pleadingly up at him.  
"Please let him g-go. I don't want to k-know, it doesn't matter, not anymore..."  
Asmodeus hissed again, softer than before. After a moment's stillness he gestured to his men.  
"Throw him outside."  
The soldiers stepped back, only to grab Thomas by the arms, yanking him up and outwards. It took the frazzled man a moment to regain himself--and then he started yelling, desperately.  
"They went where these people can't follow! Come with us, Alphonse--I'm not the only one looking for our people, someone will find him, but until then, please, come with us!"  
Aphonse shuddered, sunk further into the emperor's hold, closing his eyes shit.  
"P-please tell my parents I d-died"  
Thomas looked far from content with that answer, crying out--but whatever he might have said was lost, the doors swinging closed behind him.  
Asmodeus gestured for the other servants to leave then--but instructed the doctors to stay close. When they had left he turned to Alphonse again, stroking him slow and soft.  
"What happened?"  
Alphonse was silent for a moment. He had sworn he would never let any of these people about his brother, and yet, did it even matter anymore?  
If anything, if the emperor grew an interest in his twin, he might save him from a worse destiny-if he was still alive. It did not matter wether he spoke or not.  
"M-my brother..." He croaked, voice strained.  
"I thought he was h-home, safe...but the people who took me, they t-took him as well..." He said, sounding distant, as if he was speaking of things happening unrelated to him, eyes blank as he stared forward.  
"He might be out there, r-right now, suffering...dying...dead...I wouldn't know..."  
"He might be out there, r-right now, suffering...dying...dead...I wouldn't know...one thing after another...I keep losing everything that matters..."  
It more than explained the screaming. Asmodeus said nothing, simply staring off as Alphonse was, remembering and mourning.  
"I'm sorry."  
And he was, truly. He held the boy tighter, as if to shelter him from everything.  
"If he is in the city, I will see that he is found. If not..."  
He dipped his head lower, touching Alphonse's, gently.  
"Then I am sorry. But I will do all that I can."  
Alphonse remained quiet as he held him, staring, shaking, then sobbing, harsher and harsher every second. He pressed his face against the emperor's chest, clinging to his robes.  
"I-It hurts so m-much…i-it all does…please make it s-stop, p-please…I-I don't want to f-feel like this anymore…" He croaked.  
The man's hands found his back, his lips his hair, offering the only comfort he could. But it wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't.  
Scouring the city was possible, but even then, what would it accomplish? Alphonse hadn't been found in the city. His seller had likely been in the depths of the desert, and thus his brother, out of reach.  
Or, perhaps...  
"Alphonse, I'm sorry, this is the last question I will press you for. The men who stole you... do you remember what they looked like, talked like, what they wore? Anything, even the smallest detail, about them?"  
The boy seemed so startled by his question that even his sobs halted, leaving him trembling quietly in his arms as he looked up at him, uncertainly.  
"T-they...they w-where monsters..." He whimpered. Despite himself, Asmodeus frowned. Well, that was not helpful at all. Alphonse's description could fit most beings in the desert.  
The boy laid his head against his chest once more, closing his eyes as he remembered.  
"T-their faces...they were masks... I-I think...their whole bodies covered in fur...and they were all so small...but s-still they caught m-me and many others...they were m-monsters"  
The man's hands slowed to a crawl as they stroked him. Ha. The chances of the boy being able to identify his kidnappers to any useful extent, in that wide, desolate world, had been so slim, and yet of all the possibilities, he had named the one that would prove easiest to find... and deadliest to catch.  
"We call them goblins."  
Alphonse's eyes opened, looking up at the emperor, who was staring off into nothing with a look of grim satisfaction.  
"They stop in the city on their way to their homelands. When they do, I'll have them caught--and then I will break them one by one until they tell me every record of every sale of every blonde they have ever caught. If your brother is within my power to find, Alphonse, I will find him and set him free."  
For a moment the boy only stared at him, silent and still--And then he lurched forward wrapping his arms around him and sobbing with something other than utter misery.  
"T-thank you! Thank you thank you--s-so much--Thank you!!"  
Asmodeus simply nuzzled the boy's hair affectionately in answer. He wouldn't deserve any more thanks until his brother was found, one way or another. He hardly deserved the thanks he'd already been given...  
When Alphonse's cries had again somewhat diminished Asmodeus spoke again.  
"Would you like to rest here, Alphonse, or do you wish to return to training? Or, if you wish, you could accompany me to my meeting."  
Alphonse held him for a moment longer, still thankful, before he allowed himself to think about the emperor's words.  
Ah, training. A moment earlier he would have discarded such a notion as ridiculous. Why even bother fighting? The world was a hopeless pit of misery, there was no reason to fight what you couldn't win, but now.  
The blond sniffled, rubbing away at his tears and offering the emperor a small, weak little smile, although there were tears still in his eyes.  
"I shouldn't miss training...there is still a lot for me to learn...and the other soldiers won't like me any better if I start skipping either"  
With that the boy crawled carefully out of his arms, thanking him one last time before disappearing into the bathroom to shower before practice.  
Asmodeus watched him go before straightening with a sigh--and a bit of a stumble. His earlier desperate lunge hadn't exactly felt good in the aftermath, and damn if his wet clothes didn't weigh a lot... speaking of...  
He glared at the soaked fabric before heading off, grumbling, to change. Another long day of meetings ahead... but at least Alphonse would be waiting at the end. At this thought, he allowed himself a small smile.  
The emperor was gone when Alphonse finished, dressed and clean and ready for another day of training. A small plate of fruit had been dutifully delivered to his bed as breakfast; he grabbed an apple and crunched on it on his way out. Then down the halls he went again, out the back, through the long fields of sparring soldiers and back to the archery regiment. The captain didn't look pleased to see him, but said nothing, instead barking orders as the men picked up their bows.  
The training continued for about an hour before Alphonse was startled by a voice behind him.  
"A-Alphonse--"  
He turned around, bow lowered, at Luke's voice--and a moment later the priest was holding him tightly close, not saying a word, simply shaking and clinging to him with all his might.  
Luke felt the other boy slowly reaching out, wrapping his arms around him as well even as he let himself be embraced. Alphonse closed his eyes as the young man held him, resting his chin on his shoulder, his presence making him feel strangely calm.  
"L-Luke..."  
Then there was the captain's voice, making a rude comment about how the enemy would not wait for him to finish hugging before attacking while the other soldiers laughed and snickered.  
Once more Alphonse excused himself, leaving bow and quiver behind and taking Luke to the same shade covered spot as before.  
When they reached him, he turned and hugged him again, just as firmly as Luke had geld him that first time.  
"L-Luke...you shouldn't be here...but I'm glad I get to see to one last time..."  
"I'm glad to see you too, Alphonse," Luke croaked, squeezing him back. The two stayed like that for a time, simply grateful to be reunited, but then suddenly Luke slipped to his knees, holding Alphonse's hands and looking pleadingly up at him.  
"I did promise you--but the promise I made was that, if the war went bad, I would run then. So I beg you, A-Alphonse, let me stay until then. I will run then, if I must. Although if I might beg you more it would be to stay even then."  
The priest's head lowered, tears slipping out.  
"I want to see the green lands again... so much... but not alone. I don't want to go back there alone, w-wondering every day what became of you, if that--if that bastard got you a-again! We've been through so much together, Alphonse--please, please let me see it through to the very end."  
He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to the other's hands, begging.  
Alphonse dropped to his knees before him, still holding his hands.  
"Luke--you are such a fool...you don't know how lucky you are...you are well and free, your cousin, who scoured the desert to find you--bumped into you on the streets while you were out on a stroll! Going back alone? You have all the company you need..."  
Alphonse's eyes strayed downwards, but this time, unlike many others, he did not cry. He wondered if he had run out of tears for a life time.  
"My brother...he was taken with me...to be sold...by now, he might even be dead...I might never see him again, even if the war is won...my parents have run away to somewhere I don't know...There is...nothing in the greenlands left for me..."  
Alphonse rose to his feet, letting go of him and looking away.  
"I made you promise to hide if the war lost because you didn't stand a chance of crossing the desert by yourself before, but you do now...If Raphael wins the war, he will either kill or enslave everyone in the city...If you want to risk yours and your cousin's lives like that...the lives of those he rescued...then there's nothing I can do to stop you"  
He looked down at the priest one last time, looking for all the world like he would hug him once more. instead he began walking back towards the soldiers.  
"May your luck last a little longer..."  
Luke could do nothing but watch him go. He knew he was right. Even if he stayed he could do nothing to help him. Yet...  
He buried his face in his hands, shaking, until a panting Thomas managed to catch up to him, pulling him to his feet and leading him away.  
Alphonse said nothing, simply continuing with his training and ignoring the tight feeling in his chest.  
Two weeks passed in what felt like two days.  
Alphonse trained hard, endlessly, from morning to evening and later, whenever he caught the chance to practice after dark. His sparing breaks came only at meals and at night, when he found himself in Asmodeus' company. Sometimes the emperor loved him gently, while at other times they simply slept content in one another's arms. Yet even when the man's attachment grew more and more apparent, Alphonse never once felt the noose of jealousy tightening around his throat. He could leave, if he wished, and the man would miss him but never harm him for it.  
Even more rarely, he saw Thomas and Luke. They had decided to flee the city, but not immediately; while Thomas had been ready for immediate departure if disaster had struck, nothing so urgent had occurred, and they had dedicated two weeks to preparing for travel and supporting the war effort as best they could in the meanwhile. The choice in the end had been more Thomas' than Luke's; the priest had longed to stay, even when logic told him to flee for his cousin and his comrades sakes, but Thomas had threatened to tie him to a horse again and simply drag him off if he tried to stay, and that was the end of that.  
Thomas was reluctant to speak to him, regretful of the damage he had caused, and so Luke did most of the talking. They discussed everything except the things that mattered, keeping their minds off departure, focused on the other parts of their new lives. Luke told Alphonse the story of how Thomas had made his fortune in the city, working his way up from a hired farmer on arrival to a chef specializing in exotic dishes which the locals had gone absolutely wild for, building funds and freeing slaves while continuing his search for Luke and others from the greenlands. So grateful were those he saved that, while they were all free to leave, they had all chosen to stay and support him in his work, increasing his yields all the more.  
Alphonse, in turn, told him of his training. His dedication surpassed that of any other in the archery ring, and he now always struck a stationary target, although not always in the center. Moving targets, the newest level of training, were not going so well, but he was determined to master them, no matter what it cost him. His ribs healed more and more every day, making training easier even as it became harder.  
As for their third and brief companion... Luke had checked on him, on occasion, but there was little more to be done. He had made himself at home as the prince's pet, collar and all, and seemed more than happy at the arrangement. Luke for his part could see no sign that the horrible boy was abusing him, and so as much as he hated it, he did not interfere.  
And the war effort... it surged on, with the remarkably brutal efficiency only a tyrant of Asmodeus' reputation could enforce. The weak southern borders Raphael had been employed to protect were abandoned, citizens summoned to the north within the safety of the rapidly growing walls, and behind them the fields were burnt to ash. It would take over a year for the earth to recover--not so much time, in the empire's eyes, but far too long for Raphael's army to grow food in time to save themselves from starving.  
All the food that could be brought up from the south was saved, too. And within the northern confines, any patch of empty grass to be found, including in the emperor's gardens, was given over either to the construction of fields for food or housing for the many new arrivals. It was a preparation for siege, and the more it went underway, the more Alphonse dared to believe they could win.  
But always, something else was on his mind, until that day...  
His arrow sliced through the air, grazing the swinging log but not hitting hard enough to stick. He frowned in frustration, readied another--and let it slip from his hands, eyes dilating, as a voice screamed his name.  
"Alphonse! ALPHONSE!"  
He turned and there--there he was--his mirror image in every way, dressed in the fur of goblins, running towards him with arms outstretched.  
"A-Alex? Alex! ALEX!" He outright threw both bow and quiver away, not excusing himself this time as he ran forward, never slowing down, not even as both him and his brother crashing against one another, his brother holding him tightly and lifting him up the ground, swinging. It made his ribs ache, but he did not care—could barely feel it at all as the tears returned to his eyes for the first time in two weeks.  
The two cried and smiled and called each other's name for a minute, as if not believing it was truly the other standing there, in the flesh, holding on. It had only been a few months since their lives had been stolen from them, yet to Alphonse it had felt like years.  
Their meeting disrupted the training around them, many eyes turning to see what all the commotion was about, but to them it didn't matter, as if the two alone stood in that field.  
When they finally pulled apart—only enough to look at each other, Alphonse held his face, looking him all over for sign of injury and finding none, the other boy smiling brighter than he himself had ever been able to since they had been captured.  
"Alex—Alex! Oh G-gods I never thought—n-never thought I'd see you again! Are you alright?! are you hungry?! did they hurt you—"  
"I'm fine, Alphonse, I'm fine!—I had been looking for you everywhere we went—the goblins promised to let me look, they said they'd even help—some of them really regretted what they—but you are here and I am here and you're fine!"  
Those words sent a pang into Alphonse's chest, sent the tears cascading more rapidly down his cheeks, yet still the smile never wavering from his lips, and a moment later he was holding his brother tightly once more, nuzzling at him.  
"Y-you're right, I'm fine, w-we're fine, and that's all t-that matters"  
Unseen, not even comprehended in that moment of joyful reunion, stood the emperor, several dozen feet off. Something stirred in him as he watched the two embrace, a memory of his own brother long gone, and of how that reuniting must feel. He smiled, softly, and stayed where he stood.  
He'd received word of the goblins arrival only earlier that day, and had sent a regiment of soldiers to surround them while they laughed and dined. The attack had been brutally effective--they hadn't expected an assault, and why should they? The slaves they brought were always in high demand among the nobles and the jewel houses, and they had committed no crime as far as the city of sin was concerned.  
As such, having been so effectively surrounded, the emperor's demand had been listened to--and answered beyond his wildest expectations, Alexander delivered to him, utterly unharmed. A miracle upon miracles. Not that it had saved them, of course; no sooner had the boy been out of sight and sound then he'd had his men capture all the scurrying little bastards anyway. Not without casualty, for their poisoned darts were so nimble that some found even the smallest chinks in the thick armor he'd had his troops wear, but quite well overall. He'd brought down the fabled goblins with less than a dozen goblins, and all were in the dungeons, awaiting Alphonse's verdict.  
They hugged and cried and laughed for longer still, training slowly resuming around them.  
"I can't wait for you to meet Luke and his cousin!" Alphonse cried, beginning to tug his twin away from the field, leaving his bow and quiver and practice forgotten behind him.  
That was when he caught sight of the emperor, still standing there, smiling softly.  
For a moment he stood, frozen where he was—and then suddenly he lurched forward. The emperor stumbled backwards as the boy threw himself at him, hugging him as tightly as he could, sobbing against him.  
"T-thank you…thank you s-so much…you have done so much for m-me….for u-us…thank you"  
He held onto him for a minute longer, then stood back, and Asmodeusu stumbled again as his brother similarly hugged him, briefly, pulling back to beam at him.  
"I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me and my brother…but if you ever visit the greenland, you'll always have a place to call home!"  
Asmodeus smiled all the broader.  
"Duly noted. I deserve only so much thanks, however. The dragons must be watching over the both of you... I'll admit I did not think we would find you, much less unharmed.  
The humor left his voice at that, and Alphonse's face, both reflecting on what could have been. The blonde shuddered, softly, while his twin looked on in confusion. But then Asmodeus broke the painful silence, smiling anew.  
"But here you are, a miracle on a miracle. I do believe a celebration is in order, don't you? Preparations are going well, kin have been reunited, and the moon is bright--let us have a feast!"  
With that proclamation done, preparations were set into motion.  
Alphonse took his brother to his room, where he changed out of the strange furs and into clothes the emperor had given him before. There they spoke—then he showed him around the castle, the boy looking at his surroundings with much more awe Alphonse had had when he had first seen the palace, even in its current state of war preparation.  
His brother's happiness in turn made him happy, made him forget of all his sorrows as he watched him smile, untainted by the darkness of that place. They spoke as they walked—or mostly Alex spoke, of how the goblins had fought one another and agreed not to sell him, had dressed him up as one of them and taken him into their midst—the places he'd seen, the people he'd met—how they had even taught him some of their fighting tactics! He'd seen him training before, if he was interested in that sort of stuff, maybe he could teach him a little too!  
Alphonse had hidden away the darkness that creeped into his chest as his brother spoke of the ones who had stolen then, doing his best to keep a smile on his face.  
Then a servant came to fetch them, informing them dinner was to be served, and escorted them to the same dinning room where the emperor had held a banquet for just the two of them.  
The emperor was already there, and so where Luke and Thomas, both looking extremely uncomfortable. Alphonse ran forward, dragging his brother behind him.  
"Luke—Luke! It's him! It's Alex! My brother! We found him and he's alright! He's fine! He's fine!"  
Luke’s eyes widened, and a moment later he was running towards them as well. He grabbed both Alphonse and Alex in his arms, laughing, hugging them tightly, tears streaming down his face.  
"I'm so glad--I'm so glad! Alphonse was always, always thinking of you, hoping, hoping without end--and Alphonse, congratulations, congratulations, congratulations! God be praised!"  
"Congratulations, Alphonse!" Thomas cried from where he stood, smiling, wiping a bit too hastily at his eyes and giving the occasional sniffle.  
Luke's elation cooled slightly, then, turning to wonder and sorry.  
"But how...?"  
Alphonse's smile shrunk, and he looked down at the floor to hide it, fidgeting.  
"It's…it's a long story…he should tell it himself—let's have a seat"  
And they did. The emperor was already seated at the head of the table, and Alphonse sat beside him, with Alex sitting next to him. On the other side, Luke sat next to Asmodeus', across from Alphonse, and his cousin sat beside him, the two of them looking nervous, but growing distracted as Alex began his tale once more, from the moment they had been kidnapped, to how his captors had been filled with regret and promised to help him find his brother.  
Alphonse trembled where he sat, thankful that his brother was too busy to notice.  
Under the table, unseen, his hand sought the emperor's, squeezing it once he found it, searching for comfort there.  
Asmodeus' eyes narrowed slowly, thumb tracing soothingly over Alphonse's skin. It was a small gesture, but it gave the boy some comfort. He longed for more, to have the emperor hold him in his arms, but he would rather have died than do so in Alex's presence.  
It took a moment before Alphonse realized he and Asmodeus weren't the only ones discomforted by Alex's tale. Luke, too, began to look more and more uncomfortable, face drawn with pain; he met Alphonse's eyes briefly, the two understanding without speaking, and then he looked down at the table.  
Thomas, meanwhile, had started shaking. Softly at first, but his tremors grew and grew, hands curling into fists on the table. Alex had just launched into a new section of the tale, how they'd been blown off course by a sandstorm during their journey, and how well they'd taken care of him during the whole terrifying ideal, when Thomas slammed his hands suddenly into the table.  
Four pairs of eyes looked at him in shock. He gritted his teeth, face creasing in anger.  
""Nice?!" "Friendly?!" "Regretful?!" Do you realize--do you even realize what my cousin suffered because of them?! He was tortured, r--ra--abused, almost killed, over and over! From what I've heard your brother suffered even worse! And they were the LUCKY ones--do you know how many people they stole that we haven't been able to find, after all these months of looking?! And yet you sit here telling us how SORRY they are, as if that means a damn thing!"  
Alex simply stared at him, wide eyed and shocked, fork still half lifted to his mouth. Thomas hit the table again for emphasis, turning to the emperor fiercely.  
"I don't care how sorry they are--you'll kill them, won't you? Every single stinking one of them? Tell me you'll kill them!"  
The emperor clicked his tongue, irate, and muttered "tactless peon" too low for anyone but Alphonse and Luke to hear.  
Now it was Alex's turn to stand abruptly from his seat and slam his hands on the table.  
"No! You can't! They took care of me—they kept me safe! I wouldn't have gotten this far without them!—"  
"We wouldn't HAVE to be here without them…" That was a hiss, coming from his side, Alex turned to look at him with disbelief.  
"A-Alphonse no…you can't think the same—you can't kill them! Whatever happened they didn't meant to—they didn't know—"  
Alphonse stood abruptly, his chair toppling back behind him at the abrupt motion.  
"Didn't mean to?! They knew! They all knew! They've been doing it for years! They saw all of those monster's faces and—TAUNTED them with what they could do to me if they bought me! They're very much the monsters they look like!"  
Alex whimpered, shaking his head and stepping back.  
"N-no, Alphonse…they're only children—" Alphonse charged forward, grabbing at his brother's collars firmly and hissing.  
"I was a child when they took me—When they sold me into that monster's arms—when he beat me and starved me and raped me until he made me a whore!" He shoved, and Alex fell back against the floor, wide horrified eyes fixed on his.  
"Give me a knife and I will kill them myself!"  
Alex shook his head, and the way he looked at him, the way his spoke…something inside him broke.  
"You're not my brother"  
"Y-you're not my brother"*  
He could almost heard himself crack, something inside him wanting to jump at the one he had for so long wished to save—to beat him as hard as he could.  
Instead he turned and ran, away from him and that room, from his words and from himself, not knowing where he would go, just going away.  
Asmodeus sighed, loudly.  
"You really ARE an idiot. How on earth did you survive?"  
Thomas looked ready to argue, but then seemed to remember just who Asmodeus was, going quite pale. A moment later he'd thrown himself to all fours, head to the ground.  
"My apologies, lord emperor, I spoke out of place--please forgive me!"  
Asmodeus sighed all the louder, then snapped his fingers, several servants stepping up.  
"Escort these three to Alphonse's room. If that one--" he gestured to Thomas, "--causes any trouble, put him out the door."  
Asmodeus stood, then, turned to follow Alphonse, but was surprised by a touch on his sleeve. He looked over his shoulder to see Luke there, head lowered respectfully.  
"Please, my lord, don't let him make any decision until the morning. I... I would like to speak to him, then, and I imagine his brother as well--"  
"I make no promises," Asmodeus said, sharply, and he pulled away and swept forward. Luke stayed where he was until the servants ushered him away.

Alphonse ran.  
He ran and he ran and he ran, past startled servants and soldiers, through one set of doors after another, and finally out into cold open air. Even then he didn't realize where he was until he came up sharp before a tree. The very same under which Raphael had raped him.  
He screamed. He lunged at it as if it was the warlord himself, kicking and scratching and spitting, screaming and dragging his nails madly down the bark--  
"Alphonse!"  
Strong arms encircled him. He screamed even louder and struggled, scrabbling, sinking his teeth in hard enough to draw blood. But despite his efforts he was simply picked up and carried, off into a part of the garden he had never seen, surrounded on every side by rich red flowers.  
"Alphonse..."  
He shuddered, clamping his jaw all the tighter.  
"It's alright, Alphonse. It's alright."  
It was not alright, nothing ever was, not anymore.  
Yet his struggles slowly subsided, replaced instead by broken sobbing, the boy burying his face where he had bitten.  
The emperor simply held him, stroking him gently as he sobbed in his hold, saying nothing. The blond clutched at him desperate, shaking as if he would crumble if he was let go.  
"It's alright, Alphonse" He repeated, stroking his hair. The blond shuddered at those words, shook his head against him.  
"I-It's not, it's not, it's not a-alright—I d-didn't want him to k-know, didn't want him to see…I wanted to p-pretend nothing had happened, that n-nothing had changed…but he k-knows, and everything is d-different and nothing is the same and it h-hurts so much!" He stroked his hair again leaning forward to kiss his hair.  
"Alphonse…"  
The blond shuddered again, and then a moment later he'd moved up, forward. Warm, trembling lips pressed against his, desperate, Alphonse's fingers curling into his clothes as he whimpered.  
He drew back—barely, the two taking in each other's breath.  
"M-make it stop…p-please make it stop…"  
Asmodeus leaned forward, their foreheads touching, gentle. His hands ran through his hair and down shivering sides to hold him.  
"Breathe, my dear one. You are safe and your brother is safe. There is much to be thankful for. But for now, let us rest, until the light returns."  
He nuzzled him carefully and picked him up, Alphonse hiccuping softly and going limp in his arms. But Asmodeus had not taken more than a few steps forward when a pair of soldiers ran up from the castle, panting, and hastily knelt.  
"U-Urgent news, my lord. The enemy has been spotted on the edge of the southern borders."  
Alphonse did not make a sound at those words, but Asmodeus' could feel the fear in him nonetheless. The soft little thing in his arms went rigid—shaking, fingers curling all the more tightly into his clothes.  
For a moment, the emperor thought the boy was having another one of his attacks, tensed himself—but Alphonse's breathing continued unrestrained.  
Of all the times--! The bastard warlord was nearly as tactless as Thomas.  
"Is there any sign of immediate threat?"  
"No, my lord. They are about two weeks travel away, as expected."  
"Good. Has general Seth been informed?"  
"Yes, my lord."  
"Tell him to prepare for a war counsel at dawn."  
The soldiers saluted and ran off. Asmodeus tightened his grip on Alphonse and, always stroking him gently, carried him into the castle and through the halls to his room. When he laid the boy down on his bed he was still stiff as a corpse, breathing fast and shallow but uninterrupted. Asmodeus leaned down over him, covering him, his body warm and solid all around him.  
"You are safe, Alphonse. I swear on my life you always will be."  
The boy gripped him as if for dear life, arms wrapped around him and fingers curling into his robes as he tucked his head against the emperor's neck, whimpering.  
Asmodeus remained pressed against him, stroking him, and slowly his breathing slowed down, evened out, shaking diminishing--but never going away.  
"I had almost forgotten..." He murmured quietly.  
He had not forgotten the warlord. The man remained with him in almost every thought, and he doubted that would change, but for the past two weeks he had been the happiest in months, to the point he had forgotten that his nightmare was not over yet.  
Asmodeus had promised him countless times that they would win, that he would be safe, but the doubt always ate at him, never going away, not even in his happiest moments...It had been precisely because of that doubt, and the desire to protect that happiness, that he had begun training in the first place.  
And now, the happier he was, his brother safe, Luke reunited with his family...the more he stood to lose.  
If the warlord won, he would kill all of them. All of them except for him and his brother, for whom a destiny worse than death awaited.  
Again, Alphonse shuddering, suddenly falling back against the bed instead of pressing himself forward against the emperor, letting his eyes close.  
Asmodeus looked down upon him in silence. He looked a young, innocent thing, but inside... the agonies and horrors that stormed within his mind were more than enough to rival the emperor's own sorrows, gained over far more years than Alphonse had yet lived. Perhaps that was what had drawn them together. The depth of wounds that would not heal, but might be bandaged, for a time.  
The emperor's words were warm on his lips.  
"I can help you forget again, even if only for a little while."  
His mouth met Alphonse's, gentle, seeking permission. The boy parted his lips and granted it.  
Their bodies ground together, the first thin layer of sweat appearing, tense and heated on their skin. This time... this time felt different from the others, even when it had hardly yet begun. The air was thick with something like approaching thunder, a painful static that bound them to one another and quickened their breathing all the same. Asmodeus helped the boy undress, Alphonse helping him in turn, and then both their fevered bodies mingled again, cock to cock and lips to lips.  
The emperor broke the embrace only briefly, sucking on a few fingers before he returned to the kiss. One arm braced Alphonse, gentle and strong together, while the other slipped deep inside him like a jolt of heat.  
Alphonse groaned into the kiss, arching beneath the emperor and spreading his legs, allowing and encouraging his touch even as he in turn ground his hips more firmly against the man's.  
He moaned and panted as those strong fingers stroked inside him, more firmly than any of the emperor's previous touches, yet still bringing nothing bit a delightful spark that ran through his whole body at every movement, heating his blood.  
The emperor was pleasantly surprised to find the blond's hand suddenly wrapping firmly around both their cocks, massaging then together. Asmodeus' hips twitched instinctively forward as he grunted against Alphonse's lips.  
He had always found Alphonse's body to be beautiful, hungering for his flesh as well as his company, but the way he was moving in his arms now, as if wanting him with desperation, as if hw NEEDED him and only him...  
His cock hardened faster than any previous time they had become one, and yet Alphonse's touches were not as thorough as in previous occasion, the blond stroking his manhood with his fingers instead of his skilled mouth. Yet still he was hard, kissing and moaning and panting as he thrust his fingers firmly inside him, the blond arching again and crying out, white washing over his fingers and between their bellies.  
Asmodeus removed his fingers, shivering, moved to align their hips together as he licked his lips. Alphonse opened his eyes at that, hands pressing against his chest and pushing.  
The emperor was startled but did not fight him, letting himself be pushed off of him--confused as Alphonse rolled with him, straddling his hips as he laid against the bed on his back.  
The blond paused then, only for a moment, gazing down ibto his eyes as he panted atop him, thin body shaking. And then he moved, pushing his hips down and taking him suddenly. The blond cried out and arched sharply as his warm cock butied itself deep inside him, stroking his core, the blond grinding their hips together of his own accord, seeking their closeness, the pleasure of his flesh.  
And Asmodeus groaned at that, arching so powerfully that he lifted the boy atop his hips several inches from the bed. By the gods! He had not expected that, not at all, so different was it from the boy's usual shy demeanor.  
His hands moved to Alphonse's hips then, bracing him, and soon he fell in step with the rhythm of the younger male's intimacy. When he ground himself down, Asmodeus thrust deep, when he retreated, the emperor rested, and all the time their breathing came both raw and perfectly harmonious, their hearts beating in strong and passionate sync.  
Alphonse's body jerked, a sharper cry leaving him as one of Asmodeus' hands left his side to fondle his stiff cock, pumping the boy's manhood in time with their intertwining. The little blondes body sang with a new fire at that, his shaking limbs driving him down again and again on his lover's thick manhood, waves of heat pouring out from inside him, sweeping all the memories and all the pain far, far away.  
They were both close to the end; Asmodeus felt the swelling in his own shaft, felt the white seeping up from Alphonse's own. Their cries grew stronger, fervent, a prayer to end the pain. Asmodeus drew his other hand off Alphonse's hip and gently touched his back, bending him forward, close to him.  
"I love you, Alphonse."  
Their lips met, and he squeezed the boy firmly, a burst of white escaping both as they rode off into another world of bliss.  
Alphonse collapsed against him as the haze of their orgasm faded, panting harshly, the emperor's slick manhood slipping out of him as he assumed a more comfortable position, resting against his chest.  
Alphonse said nothing, merely rested and shivered, trying to make the last tremors of his climax last as much as he could. When they were finally gone, he gazed up at the emperor, still trying to catch his breath. He moved forward, pressed his lips against his once more, no more hungry or desperately, but gently and warm. When their lips came apart, he sunk back against him once more, tucking his head under his chin and closing his eyes  
The boy was so warm. Asmodeus could have lain there forever, Alphonse a comfortable living weight against his chest, his soft breathing a melody finer than any musician could compose. But this bliss could not last. If all went well, the little blonde would leave him, soon, forever.  
Speaking what was on his mind was like willingly treading on sharp nails, but he had never been one to fear physical pain.  
"Alphonse... your ill mannered friend will be leaving soon. In all likelihood, tomorrow. Now that your brother has been found... perhaps you should leave with him."  
The boy tensed slightly on his chest, rendering any attempt to feign sleep useless. The emperor continued soft and emotionless.  
"We know exactly where Raphael is now. It will take a week or two for him to reach the city, and then the war will begin in earnest. In that time, you could travel quite far, unseen. He claimed your family is somewhere safe... unless he's one to speak as stupidly as he does openly, he probably believes in that promise."  
Alphonse whimpered at his words, sunk more deeply against him, not looking at him as he spoke.  
"I…I don't know…I have a feeling I can't shake…of being connected, of dragging him wherever I go…I f-feel his breath washing over my neck, chasing…and caravans are so slow…I'm s-scared…of setting for outside these walls while he still breathes" The little thing murmured very quietly, as if afraid the warlord himself could somehow hear him.  
Asmodeus' hand was again at his back, soothing and strong, caressing his spine in slow rhythm until Alphonse's breathing somewhat steadied.  
"Don't be afraid, Alphonse. I will protect you, I promise."  
As much as the blonde wished he could believe him, he only shuddered again in response, tucking his face once more beneath the emperor's chin. The man sighed softly.  
"To be honest, I am glad... I know you don't love me, and I know what I feel for you, while true, is only an echo of Katrina... but all the same, you have made me feel as if I am not alone, for the first time in a very long time."  
He nuzzled Alphonse's hair affectionately.  
"I will kill Raphael so you can be free, but oh, I will miss you when you are gone. If I could, I would almost follow... but I knew when Katrina died that I would die here, too."  
The boy seemed to calm down at his words, the emperor forcing his mind to drift towards other thoughts. He was quiet for a moment, then…  
"I…I do love you…not as you would like me to…but…I am glad I met you" He said very quietly, hiding the redness of his face against the emperor's neck.  
"Thank you…for everything you've done for me….but, to be honest emperor, I don't think you would like the greenlands much, or that it would like you back" The boy said, and Asmodeusu could hear the smile in his voice.  
He chuckled, draw him closer, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head—then tensed, the blond squeaking as someone knocked agitatedly on the door.  
"Y-your highness! Sir! My apologies for disrupting you but—"  
"What" He hissed, venomously, and Alphonse could hear the person behind the door whimpering.  
"T-the prisoners, my lord—the goblins, they have escaped!"  
The emperor's pupils dilated sharply. For a second he lay there as if stunned, but then he was up in a flurry of motion, pausing only long enough to set Alphonse down carefully beside him before leaping for the door--pausing, cursing, dressing hastily and gesturing for Alphonse to do the same. The boy obeyed, wide eyed, and then both went out into the corridor.  
"I want everyone on full alarm! Darts or not they're not to be underestimated--you, and you, come with me! Send another regiment to meet me by the dungeons."  
Everyone saluted smartly and rushed into motion, a pair of capable looking soldiers following them protectively as Asmodeus hurried along, keeping Alphonse always cautiously close. The boy stayed willingly near him, eyes wide, unable to forget the memory of that first night, of screams and darkness, of a dart sinking into his skin before he woke in hell...  
There was a clamor near the dungeons as they approached; they rounded a corner and found a multitude of guards lifting a dazed looking few off the floor. Asmodeus went directly to these, snarling and grabbing the nearest by the throat.  
"How, you incompetent idiot, did they--"  
The man winced, and Asmodeus received his answer in the form of the dart stuck in his neck. Cursing, he wheeled around at the other uncomfortable looking soldiers.  
"Was there no sign--no sound?! We caught all of them, I'm sure of it, so how--"  
He paused.  
"...Alphonse... Did not your brother claim they taught him how to fight?"  
The tremors that had been shaking the boy up to that moment paused very abruptly at his question. He went pale and still, as if his body had just become hard marble where he stood, not even breath moving his body.  
Ah. He had. He had said so. Among all the horrible things he had said he had said they had taken him into their midst, and treated him as one of them—them, the monsters who had taken them and saw fit to sell him and only him to hell.  
When Alphonse next moved, it was to curl his fingers tightly on the emperor's sleeve, head bowed as he shook with renewed vigor.  
"P-please…please don't h-hurt him, he d-doesn't know what he's doing" He cried, wincing at his own words as he reminded him of his brother's when he had sought to protect the very monsters that had ruined both his and Luke's and many other's lives.  
Asmodeus closed his eyes and breathed deep.  
"I have no intention of hurting the one you so fervently prayed to save, Alphonse. Indeed, given the breathtakingly callous, inane, and short sightedness with which he has acted, I begin to wonder if his mental capacity is too dull for punishment to have an effect regardless--"  
The words came out of him in a heated rush, giving violence to words to resist the urge to inflict it physically. He stopped suddenly, however, looking down at Alphonse.  
"...Although... you are both so young... I forget, sometimes, for your eyes are so old."  
The emperor took a few more deep breaths, and when he moved again the viciousness in his eyes was replaced with mild annoyance. He gestured Alphonse close and turned down the hallway.  
"We will see if Luke knows anything about this."  
Alphonse whimpered and followed, although his terror had been replaced with just deep worry for his brother's sake. As they walked he wondered where he was. He had not been caught while fleeing, or they would know it—so then, had he gone with them? Them the monsters who had taken them? After he had called HIM a monster instead?  
The thought ate at him. He didn't know, still didn't know anything of what had happened—of the warlord, out there in the desert, growing ever nearer. If he caught a glimpse of him, he would surely spend a small fortune on buying him from the goblins, and he was sure the little monsters would sell their savior away into the same hell they had him. And even if not, Alphonse knew the man would simply slaughter them all where they stood and take him either way.  
"P-please don't be gone, please…" He murmured quietly for his own ears to hear.  
They reached the hall quicker than Alphonse thought possible, yet it felt too slow all the same. The guards were still standing outside the door--useless--but they parted as Asmodeus passed through, pushing the door open.  
There in the dim light of candles and stars three beds could be seen occupied. Alphonse's heart surged in relief at the sight of his brother's blonde hair peeking out from beneath a blanket--  
Asmodeus strode over and, with one efficient yank, grabbed the boy from his bed and dumped him on the floor.  
Luke jumped up--perhaps not as asleep as he'd like to pretend--but the emperor ignored him, cocking his head and staring coldly down at the younger boy.  
"I suppose the little monsters really did make you one of them."  
Alphonse had winced when the emperor had thrown his brother to the floor, but he did nt dare get between them, not yet. The man had promised not to hurt him…and considering Alex's treason, knocking him to the ground was a very lax sentence. Still, he hovered behind the emperor, ready to get between them if his brother needed him.  
Meanwhile Alex hissed at him from where he lay on the floor, glaring.  
"I don't know what you're talking about, he spat simply, grey eyes fixed on his, gleaming with a spark that the emperor could only imagine Alphonse's one had as well.  
In response Asmodeus simply fell into a crouch, meeting the boy's fierce gaze with his own. It was empty, devoid of any sign of anything, and perhaps that was what made it so frightening. Regardless, Alex simply scowled right at him.  
"For your brother's sake," the man said, slowly, "I will assume you are of moderate intelligence and speak to you accordingly. You said not all of the goblins repented of their ways. You do realize this means they, if not all of them, will sell more people like your brother into slavery? More innocent people plucked from their homes, families slaughtered, sold to a life of horror which you can not even begin to imagine. A life which your brother lived--not that you seem to much care, between releasing his captors and speaking to him so cruelly. Do you know how he wept when I promised to look for you? How afraid he was that you were suffering as he had? ...But no matter."  
The emperor stood, slowly.  
"If you wished to plead for their lives, it is one thing, but to release them to inflict more suffering... well. I will leave you to dwell on that. And as for you, Luke,"  
The priest stiffened on his bed, sweat trickling down his face. Asmodeus continued softly.  
"Well, I shall have to hope you were truly sleeping, because if not, that would mean you, too, have willingly risked letting many others suffer as you and Alphonse have suffered."  
Luke's eyes widened, and he went suddenly pale, staring at his blankets. It was at that moment that Thomas awoke with a start, blinking startled at all the people suddenly in the room. Asmodeus ignored him, turning away.  
"Come, Alphonse, lets be going. The guards will keep up the search while we sleep."  
Alphonse whimpered, gave his brother one last glance before turning and walking behind the emperor.  
"Alphonse wait!" Alex was on his feet, swift as a horse, grabbing his arm and keeping him from leaving with the older man. The previous anger and defiance he had directed at the emperor was all gone now, instead replaced with unhappiness.  
"Alphonse I…I'm sorry, for what I said to you before I…I had no idea of what you've been through, what they've done to make you like this" Alphonse whimpered at that, looking away and shaking, trying weakly to pry his arm away, but his brother's grip on him only tightened.  
"I'm sorry this happened to you, and I'm even more sorry I can't change what happened, that I can't change the past…but I can change the future—Alphonse, brother, please trust me, everything will be alright, there is hope! We're together, our family is safe,and we'll go home together"  
That promise. How many times had the emperor himself told him the same promise? That he was safe, his brother as well, their home waiting for them, and still that worry nagged at him. And yet, as the words left his brother's lips, the boy looking him in the eyes as he spoke…He believed him. Alphonse sobbed.  
"Please stay brother, I promise you nothing will ever tear us apart again"  
The tears broke freely out of him, and instead of trying to flee he moved forward, his brother holding him close, tightly close, as if they had just been reunited all over again. And as he held his younger twin close, Alex's eyes fixed on the emperor's, narrowed and sharp.  
Asmodeus turned away, not deigning to honor the boy with continued eye contact.  
"I suppose I shall have to trust that you won't sell your brother off while I am sleeping."  
He moved crisply away down the hall then, all the way back through the long winding corridors to his room, alone. The guards had been set on full alert, an active hunt underway, but more than that a strong detail set around Alphonse--with explicit forewarning that, should harm befall him, it would befall them ten times worse. Yes, all that could be done had been done. And yet.  
Only when he was alone in his chambers did Asmodeus' back bend stiffly, head hung, whole frame arched with pain. Alone again! Alone again forever.  
No, he would take someone, anyone.  
The servant outside his chamber jumped as he was called for.  
"Bring me a whore."  
Before the servant had taken two steps Asmodeus called out again.  
"No--bring me the blonde slave from my nephew's chambers."  
Not much, but it was something. Still--! The emperor thought of the fire in Alex's eyes as he took his brother away from him, and slammed his first harshly against the wall.

Back in Alphonse's room, Luke simply looked on as the two brothers properly reunited, smiling softly. But he squeaked and jumped nearly a foot as Thomas suddenly yelled "can someone PLEASE tell me what's going on?"

"My brother has returned, that's all" Alex said, still holding his brother close. When he pulled back he tugged him back towards the bed.  
"Come one Alphonse, you must be tired, and I'm sure you have practice early tomorrow--you better be rested for it, I'll go with you!" His brother said, smiling.  
Alphonse hesitated then, looking downwards.  
"I...I'm going to take a bath first..." He said very quietly, looking away.  
Alex's expression darkened at that, his eyes straying away as well.  
"Alphonse I...just don't take too long...I don't want to be away from you..."  
Alphonse nodded without offering another word, then hastily left for the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind himself.

Asmodeus looked up at the knock on his door, gruffly instructed them to come in.  
He looked up at the knock on his door, ordered them gruffly at them to come in. The door opened, and in came the blond slave he had requested. He had not seen the boy ever since he had given him to his nephew.  
Prince smiled, then bowed deeply before him.  
"Warm nights for you my emperor. How may I please you tonight?" The boy said softly--a sharp contrast to the shrill desperation with which he had clung to his leg and begged two be taken merely two weeks prior.  
"You can start by not talking."  
Prince's eyes widened at that--after two weeks of serving Ezekiel so faithfully, he had become accustomed again to being adored and spoiled, forgotten nearly all about the emperor's previous coldness. But here it was again--and more than simply making him unhappy, the echoed anger in the man's voice made him frightened.  
"Come here."  
The boy did so, head bowed, clambering on to the bed and obediently kneeling beside Asmodeus--who then pulled him roughly down, forcing him to turn his back to him as he did so and then drawing him close. He sniffed at his hair and grimaced.  
"You don't smell like him, but at least from here, you look almost as pretty... almost."  
And with that the man closed his eyes.  
The boy whimpered but said nothing, merely closed his eyes and trembled in his hold.  
He waited, and waited, and waited, but at no point did he feel the emperor's hands run over his body, pulling off his clothes. He was simply held against the older man.  
Well, good! He did not want to be taken by him—not at all! He was rude and mean and prince Ezekiel was so much better!  
Ah, if only he hadn't been called he could be resting right now with him and all his servants—had, in fact, been resting with him and all his servants. He was forced to take a quick shower to wash away sweat and seed, had thought finally the man appreciated his looks and talents—nut no! he was as mean as ever! If he wanted Alphonse so much, why didn't he just go look for him? He heard there were even two of him now.  
Still in the emperor's arms, Prince reached for a pillow and held it close, closing his eyes and thinking about Ezekiel, laying warm and soft beside him.

Tomorrow came.  
That was no real surprise, but still. Alphonse stirred slowly in his brother's arms, peering out from the bed to see Luke and Thomas already awake and talking quietly. They looked up at the faint sound of his movements, Luke looking sad and Thomas pleased.  
"Alphonse, we're..." he started, but then stopped. Thomas finished.  
"We're leaving today, before that bastard warlord gets any closer. But before we go, I have to tell you..."  
Both cousins looked around, cautious for the smallest hint of any eavesdropper. Then Thomas crept close, whispering.  
"Your parents and the others went into the mountains. My village did, too. I don't know if you know, but all the people in the desert are terrified of the mountains--they'll never follow us there."  
Luke too moved close, spoke softly.  
"We'll wait for you in your village, Alphonse, as long as we can. So please... please..."  
The tears came, as expected, but less expected was when he lurched forward, clutching Alphonse so tightly that even Alex woke with a squeak.  
"Please be s-safe. Please make it to the greenlands."  
Alphonse clutched him tightly back, but said nothing. He would not promise what he could not give.  
When the priest finally let him go, Alphonse held on to his arms, smiling at him with tears in his eyes.  
"I will miss you so much Luke…but I am glad to see you go. But…if anything I'm the one who needs you to promise to return to the greenland safely…and…and please, please take my brother with you—"  
"No!"  
Alex grabbed him and shook him, glaring at him.  
"I am not! I will NOT leave you! We promised!" Alphonse did not dare look at him, shivering.  
"Alex please…you don't understand, it's not safe in here"  
"I know it isn't, which is why you should come with us!"  
He turned to Thomas then, frowning.  
"Tell him!"  
Thomas crossed his arms and fixed his own grown in Alphonse's direction.  
"Your brother is right."  
Alphonse immediately angrily opened his mouth to protest, to repeat again the arguments he'd made countless times, but Thomas spoke over him.  
"I know you're afraid that Raphael will follow you. Understandably so. But you aren't thinking this through. Right now, he's confirmed to be nearly two weeks of travel south of here. Once he gets here and the war starts, he might very well be killed. God knows I'm praying for it! But even if he doesn't, it'll likely be weeks before the war is over. And then he'd have to travel all the way north... he would never reach us in time. We'll be well into the mountains by then and even if, God forbid, he convinces all of his men to follow him into a place they literally view as hell, then he will still never find us in all those mountains. Never! He doesn't even know what VILLAGE you came from, Alphonse, much less what mountains we'll choose to set off in."  
Alex nodded his head in furious agreement with every word Thomas said. Luke remained quiet--and hopeful. Thomas spoke again, and his voice was softer this time, more gentle than Alphonse had heard ever him speak before.  
"I think the real reason you want to stay, Alphonse, is because you fear you'll never be at peace until you can see with your own two eyes if he is dead. I know what you fear most is always living in fear of him. But please, Alphonse, come with us. Leave this horrible place behind. You've already been so brave, so often... but please, be brave just one more time."  
Thomas extended his hand to him, softly, pleadingly.  
The boy looked at his hand, uncertainly. Alex kept on nudging him, pleading.  
"Please brother, will you really make me show up before our parents empty handed? They would never forgive me, and neither would I" Alphonse's lips moved silently, going over the many excuses he had come up with to stay there, found that none of them carried enough weight to contradict what the others had said.  
All he had was that dreadful feeling still curled around his gut "I…I-I'll go…" He said very quietly, the others barely hearing him. Alex held him tightly even as he reached out and accepted Thomas's hand, thanking him as well and promising everything would be fine.  
"You said…we're leaving today?…I…I should go say goodbye to the emperor first…" Alex's stiffened against him, his words sing off in his mouth. He pulled back to regard him, expression unreadable.  
"…You're right Alphonse…we should all go thank him for his kindness, together—will you come as well, please?" He said, grabbing at both Luke and Thomas as he pleaded.  
Thomas looked like he had his misgivings--quite a few of them, in fact--but Luke simply clasped Alex's hand and smiled.  
"That's a wonderful idea, Alex. I owe him just as much as Alphonse does. I just hope he isn't too busy..."  
It turned out the emperor was busy, but after a whisper from his servant as to who exactly had come calling, he excused himself briefly and stepped out of the meeting hall to attend them.  
Alphonse opened his mouth.  
"You are leaving."  
A statement, not a question. Asmodeus smiled, but it did not lift the sorrow from his eyes.  
"I am glad, Alphonse. Be safe. I will see to it that the bastard of the desert does not live long enough to hound after you."  
Alphonse watched him for a moment, vision blurry with tears, and a moment later he threw himself forward, wrapping an arm around him--his other hand being held by his brother, who kept as much distance as he could while glaring fixedly up at the emperor.  
"T-thank you emperor, I...I will never forget what you have done for me..." He held on for a moment longer, tightly, and then slowly let go, stepping back and gazing up at him with worry in his eyes.  
"And please, please be careful, you might have the advantage but he...he's the d-devil himself" He whimpered.  
And then, then it was Alex who took a single step forward, kneeling before him while still holding his brother's hand, those sharp grey eyes fixed on his once more.  
Asmodeus' eyes narrowed in turn.  
"Damn right you will."  
Luke intruded before the tension could get any thicker, kneeling alongside Alex and speaking in a hoarse whisper.  
"I, too, thank you, emperor. You saved us from a hell you can't even begin to imagine... Thank you, thank you so much. Your kindness will not be forgotten."  
He closed his eyes, inclining his head. Thomas then joined the others in kneeling.  
"You saved my cousin from a fate worse than death. For that I will always be grateful."  
Asmodeus looked at all of them, and then at Alphonse, standing alone in the light streaming in through the windows. His face softened.  
"As long as you get Alphonse home safe, you will owe me nothing."

Alphonse was surprised to find the bakery as busy as ever. The only exception was when Thomas stepped in, at which point a hush fell over the occupants and they assembled quietly before him. He looked at them helplessly, taking each face in turn.  
"You are sure you won't come with us? Our road will be hard, it's true, but what awaits at the end will be better than this."  
One of the group--a young woman dressed in the garb of a head baker--stepped forward and saluted fiercely.  
"We want to continue the good work you have started here, master Thomas. Perhaps once slavery is no more we will chase after you. But... until then..."  
The voice that had been so strong at the beginning cracked now, her eyes filling with tears. Thomas stepped forward and embraced her.  
"Oh, Nalia..."  
And that, of course, triggered everyone else to start crying and hugging too, surrounding Thomas and even Alphonse and Alex and Luke in a wave of emotion. Countless words of gratitude were given, similar to those they had given the emperor, but Thomas remained silent through it all, simply savoring their presence for the last time.  
After some minutes the former slaves stepped back, and Nalia led them all in one final salute.  
"Godspeed, master Thomas. Safe travels and eternal thanks for all you have done for us."  
Every other inhabitant of the bakery echoed her words. Thomas nodded stiffly.  
"You all stay safe, too. Be happy."  
He turned then, out the door and into the pale morning light, and only his three companions saw the tears on his face.

The central point of what would be a month of travel was a small wagon, just large enough to hold the four of them and food and water for both they and their horses. There were two of those, serenely harnessed to the caravan; Thomas patted them absently as he and Luke scurried up into the drivers' seats, Alphonse and Alex getting in the wagon itself, and then... they were off.  
Silent guards at the gates let them pass, out into the green grass fringing the city boundaries. It would give way to sand soon enough, but for now, looking at the city behind, it looked almost homely.  
Alphonse leaned against his brother and watched as Amakiz dwindled smaller and smaller behind them.  
The grass had just begun to interspace with dune, and the city to become one tan smudge on the horizon, when the wagon suddenly halted.  
"Alphonse, Alex, get on the horses, now."  
Thomas' voice, strangely calm, but the stop and the command were enough to make both twins scramble to obey. Alphonse was the first to get his feet on the ground, moving around to the front and the horses--and stopping.  
There, a few hundred feet away, stood a few hundred men on horses.  
Raphael wasn't there. Instead, sitting in the front on a horse dark as night, was a man with wild black hair and a savage grin. A man Alphonse had seen before.  
"Well, well, well, if this isn't a lovely surprise!"  
Alphonse froze where he stood, looking as terrified as if the warlord himself stood before him. He knew who the man was, knew what he would do, to him, his brother, Luke and his cousin--and at the end, if he did not keep them to himself, he would march them straight into Raphael's arms, regain his trust--  
His brother, so similar to him, and at the same time so different, did not pause for a moment. He'd cut the ropes tying the horse to the caravan as soon as he'd set foot upon the sand.  
In one swift movement, he had climbed up on the horse, hand outstretched to his brother. "Alphonse!"  
He reached out, Alex pulling him up. He held on tightly, wrapping his arms around his brother, face buried against his shoulder as he shook, eyes closed shut.  
Alex had kicked the horse into motion before he was fully on it. He gave the others a single glance, tossing his dagger at Thomas and riding as fast as he could back towards Amakiz without looking back.  
As soon as Alex moved Thomas moved, too; he swept up his paralyzed cousin, slashed the horse's harness, and ran. But not the way the others had. He ran towards the Egris, the vast river that pumped out of the city and west towards the mountains and the afterlife. Thomas screamed out to them as he ran.  
"To the river! Get to the river!"  
Alex simply kept going. Thomas cried out one last time.  
"They're too fast, but they can't swim!"  
They had come like a desert storm. Indeed, that was what he had thought at first, when the dust rose up before them like a whirlwind. Then it had revealed something even worse at its heart. There was no hope of their fat amiable city horses outrunning those demons of the desert. But he could pray that in a world without water their pursuers couldn't swim, and that in a world without trees they would have no arrows to kill them from afar.  
It was a desperate gamble, but going on land was a certain loss, and Thomas spurred his horse on faster.  
Lucian whistled, and with cries of glee his men split into two groups, charging along after their fleeing prey--but then they reared, whinnied, their riders yanking them sharply away in fear as a worse sound rose on the wind.  
The hair on Alphonse's neck rose at the gibbering screams, inhuman and familiar. There--racing along faster than even desert horses--were small forms in masks riding on creatures like huge scaled birds, pipes to their lips as they readied their darts. Lucian swore and his men ran as swiftly as they had appeared, setting off in a broad circle around the city's flank--retreating, but not leaving.  
The goblins let out cheers of triumph and many jeering insults in between, running in maddened circles between the savages and their intended victims, shielding them with a mass of darts and raucous screams.  
Alex let out an excited cheer calling back at the goblins and waving even as he kept his horse riding at full speed back towards the city, it's great walls growing ever nearer with every passing second.  
Alphonse remained as he was, whimpering and pressing his face against his brother's back, too terrified to look up. He knew he shouldn't have left he knew he shouldn't have left he knew it wasn't safe!  
"It's alright Alphonse! We're alright! We're almost there!" He reassured him, kicking at his horse once more, and then yelling when they were close enough to the city, his voice sharp and loud asking them to open the gates.  
The gates opened before they reached them--and soldiers rushed out, Seth at their forefront, astride a white horse. The general spared them a swift glance as he surged past and then roared, his men echoing his call and stampeding onwards. The goblins let out a hasty squeak and made off at double speed, but it wasn't they that the army was pursuing. Seth's forces rounded towards Lucian's, raising a wave of sand in their wake.  
Seeing the approaching army, Thomas broke off from the river and charged towards the gates, meeting with Alphonse and Alex shortly after within them, panting.  
"I thought... I thought they were... in prison?"  
"They escaped last night."  
"Oh."  
The gates slammed shut behind them. Soldiers were milling about everywhere, taking up battle positions, and in short order the emperor himself appeared on a black horse, flanked by soldiers. He looked over Alphonse worriedly and, confirming as Seth had that they were unharmed, rushed forward towards one of the lookout towers speckling the city, falling into deep conversation with the man who had just climbed down from the heights.  
"Let's get back to my house," Thomas said, weakly. Luke simply buried his face hard into his back, trembling violently.  
Alex nodded, then reached behind his back to stroke his brother's hair reassuringly as he prodded their horse to walk slowly forward.  
"It's alright Alphonse, we're in the city, we're safe. They can't get us now" Alphonse answered him with a muffled sob, shaking his head against his twin's shoulder.  
"I-I told you it wasn't safe!"  
Alex sighed, stroking him one last time before focusing on the road forward. He could work on calming him down when they had settled down at Thomas' house.  
The cries of alarm as they approached the bakery were obvious, the staff piling out and helping the shaking boys off their horses and inside. Thomas, a picture of solidarity until then, almost dropped to the ground when he dismounted, shaking legs barely holding him; his friends piled in around him, holding him up and carrying him in with the others while one servant put away their horses.  
There they were all sat down in soft seats around a table, blankets and hot tea supplied as they clamored for the news. Thomas and Alex filled them in, all while Luke and Alphonse kept pressed fearfully close against them--and each other, Luke's arm wrapped around the smaller boy's shoulders, trying to comfort him even as he himself trembled.  
The day passed in a strange blur of too slow and too fast. Thomas' workers armed themselves fiercely with knives and rolling pins, as if they could fend off any threat that dared breech the walls, while others brought updates trickling in from the outside. Seth's men had pursued Lucian for only a short while before giving up the chase of the swifter desert horses and returning to the safety of the walls. There the general had issued his report to the emperor. Lucian's troop seemed to be guarding the city, keeping anyone from leaving, a feat made possible by the small but efficient size of his force: a few hundred men were far more mobile and far more easy to keep fed then several thousand. It seemed likely he was waiting to join Raphael's forces once he arrived. Indeed, it was likely they were already allies; Lucian had appeared far too swiftly for Seth to believe it was a simple coincidence. They might have been circling the city for days...  
It was discomforting news, but all the same the course of action remained as planned. Let Raphael and his men come, let Lucian add a few sorry hundred soldiers to his ranks; they wouldn't breach the walls, and they would starve soon enough.  
It wasn't until dusk that one of the servants on watch peeped out "the emperor is coming!" And sure enough, a few minutes later there he was, hurrying inside with a few soldiers at his flank, going straight to Alphonse.  
"Are you well--are you unhurt? I am sorry I could not get to you sooner. And you idiots!"  
He snarled, Thomas wincing and a napping Luke starting awake against him.  
"How the hells did you not see them coming?!"  
"There was so much dust--I thought it was a passing storm, and then they were on us."  
Asmodeus answered with an increasingly rising hiss.  
"Fool! Useless bastard! I ought to kill you myself!"  
Nalia and the other staff members all scowled, a few edging closer and clutching their utensils of war more firmly. Asmodeus' guards turned to meet their glares, hands on their swords.  
The emperor's hissing ceased as he felt a trembling hand clutch at his sleeve. He turned to see Alphonse, held close in his brother's arm but looking up at him.  
"Please emperor, it was not their fault...So many good things have happened that we forgot there is more than one monster roaming the sands" He said, voice wavering as he looked downwards, his expression pained despite having no wounds.  
Alex stroked his back carefully.  
"I suppose in the end we are lucky your prison guards are as useless as they are" Alex said calmly, unable to hide a hint of smugness in his voice.  
Alphonse could have sworn he saw Asmodeus' pupils shrink to serpent slits.  
A moment later Alex had been yanked up from his place at the table only to be slammed down hard against it, the emperor leaning in close against him, hissing.  
"Not another word."  
Thomas got to his feet just in time to keep his staff from stupidly charging to their execution.  
"Please--please, emperor, we are sorry, but what I say is true! You are native to these lands--you know how heat and sand betray the eyes, and how quick desert horses run. We had no warning until it was almost too late. You have many men with sharp eyes keeping watch on the desert--I saw you speak with one--they can confirm the truth of what I say. Please, please forgive us; we did not wish to risk Alphonse's life any more than our own. He is precious to my cousin and even to me."  
Thomas had pressed his head respectfully down against the table as he spoke, the best he could do considering he was caged in by people at all sides, but his words and actions seemed to appease the emperor, Asmodeus rising slowly and releasing his grip on Alex.  
"I think it would be safest, Alphonse, if you return to the castle with me."  
"No it would NOT!" Alex had gotten off the table as soon as he'd been released, but Alphonse had hastily pulled him down to the floor with him, shielding him with his body from the very likely possibility that the emperor would stab him. Still, they other boy kept on talking, the only one in the whole realm who dared go against the emperor's words.  
However, his brother's hold seemed to remind him of their current position, surrounded on all sides by the emperor's armed soldiers. He adjusted his tone a little.  
“Luke and Thomas have plenty of space for us here, and I recall you assuring us the enemy would never breach the walls? Then this place should be as safe as any. I'm sure my brother wouldn't want to be a bother on you either, emperor, seeing how busy you are, but if it would make you feel better, I guess stationing a few guards outside wouldn't hurt...Then again it's not like they'd do much good either--"  
His last words were a quiet hiss, but still Alphonse smacked a hand over his mouth for good measure. He turned and gazed up at Asmodeus with a frightened whimper, begging him not to hurt his brother.  
Asmodeus' eyes remained vicious, but he slowly drew his gaze away from the insolent thing, on to his far more agreeable brother. As before the anger faded away at the sight of him, leaving grimness in its place.  
"I will leave my personal guards with you. I do not believe the walls will be breached, but..."  
He seemed to think the better of what he was going to say, asked a question instead.  
"Do you wish to stay here, Alphonse?"  
Alphonse whimpered.  
"I-I..."  
Alex pulled his brother's hand off his mouth.  
"Alphonse you don't have to!" He hissed quietly.  
Alphonse looked away, whimpering again.  
"If we are going to stay...then I should return to archery practices...in the castle...so..."  
Alex chidded.  
"Then I'll go with you!"  
"You can all come... if you wish."  
That surprised Alphonse nearly as much as everyone else, and no one looked too happy about it--none the least Thomas' staff, who looked positively murderous. Luke at least found the strength to smile, finding happiness in the fact that, at least, he and Alphonse would be able to spend more time together. One point of light in all the darkness. They had been so close to going home...  
At that though the sorrow came back, but he still bowed low in thanks.  
"We are most grateful, your majesty. Thomas, I think I'll go, will you?"  
Thomas looked as if he very much wanted to yell "NO!" but instead he shrugged and muttered "why not."  
Then the while procession was off, leaving the watchful faces of the cooks behind, back to the castle and to the room that had become something of a second home for them. Here Asmodeus was forced to at last reluctantly depart, but not before he set guards--of a much higher quality than those at the prison entrance, it might be said--around them and ordered food to be brought. Then the four were left with silence and their thoughts.  
Alex had remained plastered to his brother through the whole thing as if they were siamese twins, glaring at the emperor through it all. As Asmodeus left the room, door closing behind him he sighed and relaxed, falling back against the bed. However, his expression remained unhappy.  
"This was a bad idea, we shouldn't have come at all" Alphonse whimpered, not looking at him.  
"I need the practice Alex...you said you'd join me remember? And besides...I don't want to have to travel through the city...you haven't seen it...but it's a horrible place..." He murmured quietly.  
Alex say up, sighing and stroking his brother's back.  
"It's alright I guess...as long as we stay together"  
Luke and Thomas had both gone to their own beds when they entered the room, exhausted, all too willing to sleep into sleep. Indeed Luke was already halfway there, curled up beneath the blankets, eyes dim. He still shook, every now and then, the memory of the black haired man haunting him.  
He hadn't told Alphonse. He hadn't told anyone.  
But the man had promised to return for him, no matter where he ran.  
Under Raphael's cruelty, he had forgotten about the other shadow lurking in the wilds. Even when he'd been freed, he had thought he would never see the man again. But now...  
He curled up all the more tightly under the blankets.  
"...I'm sorry."  
That was Thomas.  
"I'm sorry to all of you. If it'd turned back when I saw the dust... or maybe if we'd left sooner..."  
The two brothers looked up at that, and Alphonse grimaced.  
"Thomas…it wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could have done…i-if anything it was my fault…I could f-feel it, I knew something bad would happen, and I said n-nothing"  
Alex sat up at that, glaring.  
"It was no one's fault! Except those bastard's and also the emperor's fault—if he really cared that much about Alphonse he would have sent us away with an escort!"  
Alphonse whimpered in response, looked down, wringing his hands.  
"Alex…please, please stop angering him. I know you only want what's best for me but…he means no harm…AND he's an emperor, and…and we might h-have to live in his city forever…" All eyes looked up unhappily at that. Alphonse closed his eyes and continued.  
"The desert…it's too much for u-us, war or not. Even if its w-won, even if R-Raphael and all his men are k-killed, there are many more like them out there…O-out there we are nothing but slaves, waiting to be picked up…At least in h-here we have a chance of making a l-life of our own…"  
Thomas sat up at that.  
"I won't accept that! I... I was careless... but after the war..."  
They all looked at him, Luke included. Thomas' hands clenched around his blankets.  
"I wouldn't trust any men the emperor gave us with the path to the greenlands... but I'll look. I'll look every single day just like I did for Luke, until I find people we can trust, strong people. I'll free more slaves, get a big group together, one that with a little training and weapons can fight back the desert. After all--they took the goblins' weapons when they were arrested, didn't they? We can ask the emperor for those--with a little training, we could learn how to use them ourselves. No one messes with the goblins out there on the sand, no one! We could do it. We will do it. We will get home, all of us, I promise."  
His voice had grown stronger and fiercer with every word, and now a fire shone in his eyes, bright as the stars.  
Alphonse did not look at him, his expression as distraught as it was from the beginning.  
"…Either way…it would take us months…perhaps years…and as long as we're here, we should remain in the emperor's good graces…"  
Alex had only frowned at first, but at those last words he looked alarmed again, grabbed his brother by the shoulders, frowning down at him.  
"Alphonse please, you don't have to do anything for him—we could go back to Thomas' house! we don't need the emperor!"  
Alphonse grabbed his brother and pulled him close, shuddering.  
"Alex…you have no idea how much he has done for us…f-for me, so please…I…We will always be together, but I need you to trust me, to let me d-do this…" Alex held on to him as well, saying nothing and shaking, but glaring at the wall as if the emperor standing there.  
Alphonse stroked his brother's back, sighed.  
"But…none of that matters…not now. We can't go anywhere, so let's all just sleep" The rest of the group gloomily agreed, and so soon enough they had all curled into bed. Luke and Thomas each had their own, while Alphonse and Alex laid next to each other, with Alex holding his twin's hand as he drifted off to sleep.  
An hour passed, and still his eyes were open. He looked beside him at his brother's sleeping form, face calm in his sleep like his had not been in months. Slowly, carefully he stood up, saw Thomas and Luke were asleep as well. He watched them for a moment, then stepped out of the room.  
As he walked outside and down the hall, one of the guards stationed by the door fell into step behind him, following him, but he paid him no mind. By now he had memorized the way,. His steps took him to the emperor's room, and he stood before the closed doors for a moment completely silent. He heard no sound coming from inside, and so a moment later he moved forward, pressing his hands against the wood but not pushing.  
"…Emperor?"  
There was no answer save silence. Alphonse hesitated, called once more, softly, and waited. Again there was no answer, and he turned to leave--just as the door opened.  
"Alphonse?"  
And there was the emperor--disheveled hair and robes suggesting he'd only just woken. Alphonse was surprised he had heard him, but assassins were far quieter than he, and Asmodeus had learned to stir at the faintest of sounds.  
There was no mistaking the delight in Asmodeus' eyes at seeing him, but even as he looked the expression faded into worry.  
"Is everything alright?"  
Alphonse's own expression softened at seeing the emperor's face.  
"Everything's alright, I just...may I come in?"  
"Emperor?" Another quiet voice, calling for him with concern from within the room, and a voice he recognized. Alphonse stiffened, his eyes widening  
"Ah..."  
He stepped back, was out of his reach before he could grab him, bowing stiffly, eyes on the floor.  
"I'm sorry emperor, I shouldn't have...disturbed you" And with those words he turned and left, stalking hastily down the hall, arms wrapped around himself, the guard that had escorted him there following him silently back to his room.  
"Alphonse! Alphonse, wait!"  
Alphonse certainly had no plans to wait, but his guard wordlessly stepped between him and the door to the corridor, blocking his exit and allowing the emperor to catch up. The man allowed himself to pant for only a second before straightening up, anguished.  
"I didn't touch him! He is there to warm my bed--in the most literal sense--and nothing else. This night and the past, I held him and closed my eyes and wished it was you. But that was ALL I did."  
He closed his eyes and grimaced slightly.  
"I did not think your brother would let you return to me... or... even that you would wish to, now that you have ample excuse not to."  
That was a bit more honest than Asmodeus had expected to be, and while he opened his eyes he now found himself the one averting his gaze from Alphonse, ashamed.  
"You have several times chosen to accompany me when I gave you a choice... but I fear always that you still believe you have no choice at all. That is why I settled for a cheap mockery to hold. I did not think you would come back to me..."  
A sudden thought occurred to the emperor, then, and he shuddered--twice, the second time in revulsion at his own weakness.  
"Indeed, perhaps you are only here now because you still feel you must be. I am sorry for troubling you, Alphonse. And I am sorry for striking your brother."  
With those words he turned and began to move back towards his bedroom.  
Not once had he turned to regard the emperor during his speech, but he did so now, shuddering.  
"And him, does he have a choice? Did he want to warm your bed as well?" Asmodeus paused to regard him, and so he continued.  
"Slaves have no will outside of their master's own. He is a slave, and as kind and allowing as you have been, as much as I enjoy uour company, so am I emperor...in this castle, in this city, our will lies under your own...this soldier would warm your bed too, if you asked him" At that the soldier that had been blocking his path tensed, looking quite uncomfortable.  
The boy did not look angry or sad as he spoke, just...tired.  
"Your will is law emperor...and you are happy to enforce it, as you have done with him...as you will do with anyone in your path...but what you want from me...you cannot order, not truthfully, so your will bends...it's something Raphael never learned...and he hurt me all the more for his own mistake" he closed his eyes and shuddered, tears leaping to his eyes.  
"He b-broke me, he m-made me a s-slave...and that will not change, e-even if I want to be with y-you, e-even if I d-don't have to...that can only be as long as you will it..."  
He wiped at his face, drew a deep breath, calming himself.  
"I came...to speak to you...about my b-brother...please, please be patient...you may spare him for my sake, you may think he is foolish, but he is not...he is merely free" Then the boy smiled, a sad broken thing as he thought of things the emperor could not imagine.  
"He is the way things are, when everything is green and alive..."  
"I will never touch him again." Asmodeus said, solemnly. And then he moved forward, knelt, going to his knee before Alphonse and inclining his head.  
"...And if you wish it, I will never touch you again. Your will is my will, Alphonse. So please, tell me..."  
He took a shuddering breath.  
"Will you stay with me, until you return to the paradise from which you came? I beg you to answer truthfully. And... I swear on Katrina's name that I will show you the same kindness no matter how you answer."  
A pause, another breath.  
"Because I long for your presence, even if only for a little while, even if you do not love me.”  
"...P-please stand up..." His voice was soft and wavering.  
He did so, slowly and with effort.  
Alphonse gazed at him for a moment longer, then moved forward, wrapping his arms around him and clinging to him, burying his face in his chest.  
"I will stay...tonight..."  
Despite the happiness that having the boy stay brought him, he grimaced at the last of his words. He had agreed to stay...but only for a night. Such a short amount of time...  
"So...can I go?" Prince asked hopefully from where he'd been watching at the door.  
"Go back to your master."  
Prince needed no further invitation--he practically scampered out of the room in delight. He was still dressed, a sign Alphonse took as truest proof that Asmodeus had done nothing save hold him. The emperor's eyes never left him, even as he dismissed the guard as well, telling him to wait outside.  
And then he was simply looking down at the boy again. Looking at him with an intensity that was not hungry, no lust in those emerald eyes, but a simple and honest desire to take in all of him, to remember him even when the long years had passed and Alphonse's sweet smell and soft voice were only fond memories.  
Then he leaned forward, gentle, and kissed him. Alphonse closed his eyes and returned it. The touch was cautious, tender, as if it was their first--or perhaps their last.  
Then at last the emperor pulled back, just enough to nuzzle his hair.  
"Do you wish to rest? I know your day has been hard and cruel."  
Alphonse did not answer, color rising to his face. Instead he whimpered moved forward once more, pressing his lips to his again. He moved back and spoke then.  
"Life is hard and cruel...I want to forget that it is"  
He kissed him again, wrapping his arms around the emperor's neck, his lithe body pressed against his.  
When their kiss ended, Asmodeus sighed and caressed his hand up Alphonse's cheek.  
"I wish I could make you forget in a more permanent way than this."  
Alphonse simply shuddered a little, pressing closer to the older man. Asmodeus let him, nuzzling at him and stroking his back, soothing. Only when Alphonse's stiff body had relaxed did the emperor proceed, nudging him gently forward, up against the wall of the hallway, and removing his clothes.  
Alphonse blushed again as he was undressed, but he offered no resistance in the slightest, willingly granting the emperor access to his flesh as he nuzzled and licked softly at his skin. When he was fully naked before him the emperor ran a hand lightly down his side, smiled.  
"It is good to see you healing well."  
For some reason the kind words made Alphonse go even more red than if the emperor had chosen to stare at his cock. Asmodeus laughed, kissing his hair before gently prompting him to turn around. The boy did so, pressed up closely between the wall on one side and his temporary lover on the other, feeling oddly comforted at the closeness of that feeling. Asmodeus' mouth roamed his body freely, kissing his way down his neck and back before rising again to his shoulder, biting the skin softly and then suckling in turns.  
Then at last his arms curled around the boy, one cupping his member while the other cradled his sacs. Alphonse whimpered at that, arching softly as the man's strong hands teased his skin, stroking and kneading.  
The boy arched and moaned at that, the motion pressing his hips closer to the emperor's as Alphonse's hands braced him against the wall.  
There was…something about the way the emperor held him, that made him feel safe, that made him forget that the clock was ticking and Raphael was on his way and no one would ever be so gentle with him again and his brother could not run anymore because he would know—  
He closed his eyes, pressed his face against the wall.  
"P-please, closer" AT first the emperor did not understand, but then he did all he could think of, pressing him more firmly against the wall with his own body even as he kept kneading. Alphonse pressed back against him and moaned, arching and moving his head to the side, making it all the easier for him to kiss and lick and suckle at his neck.  
The wall was cold, but the emperor's warmth made up for it. Alphonse hardened slowly under his caresses, but he made no motion to fight him, his every move and sound an indication that he was enjoying it.  
Asmodeus kissed his neck again, soft. He worked the boy until he was completely aroused in his fingers, hard little cock pressed against the wall, and then one of his hands withdrew to undo the clasp of his own pants. He began to grind against the boy's slim body, then, rubbing himself hard on his soft cheeks, all while his hand continued to caress--but slowly, so slowly, keeping Alphonse at the peak but not letting him topple over.  
Alphonse simply quivered against him, soft little cries muffled against the wall. After a minute or two Asmodeus was hard, breathing fast, warm air comforting on Alphonse's skin.  
The emperor drew his hands back, then, slicking his fingers with spit and massaging Alphonse's entrance. It didn't take long to prepare him, and then Asmodeus' hands moved yet again, intertwining with the boy's own, stretched out against the wall.  
The emperor's robes draped over them both like soft black wings, and held tenderly between warmth and wall, Alphonse felt at peace.  
Asmodeus kissed his hair and then sheathed himself, groaning, hips rolling in slow firm circles against the boy's own.  
Alphonse moaned as he was ground against the wall by the emperor's movements. His fingers curled more firmly around his, clinging to him, wanting to be as close as he could as he pressed back against the man's warm body to the best of his abilities.  
The emperor's cock was nestled deep inside him, warm and throbbing, gently stroking and teasing him at his core. Asmodeusu continued those movements for a moment longer before he moved back, then pushed forward, beginning to set up a gentle rhythm, the way he knew Alphonse enjoyed being taken. He had never really tried to roughly claim his body, but the way he cried at those caresses, wriggled and whimpered at the gentlest touch, moving his hips softly against his instead of hungrily seeking more…  
Last time they had been together, he had…he had done such things. He shivered at the memory of it just as much as he shivered at the feel of the emperor's caresses.  
He enjoyed his touch, the way he was always careful, always gentle and loving instead of hungry and greedy for his flesh. Even now, as the man took him against the wall, he did not feel lusted over, instead he felt…loved.  
Perhaps that was why he kept coming back, despite the fact that he didn't want to, not really. He wanted to lay with his brother, to hold his hand and smile at him as if everything was alright, as if nothing hurt. But that is not the way things were, and his brother's happiness, his optimism and cheer only reminded him of what he had lost. The only way he seemed to be able to forget was…this.  
This feeling that he had never felt before, that numbed both his mind and body at once. At least for a few minutes he felt free of his own thoughts. But…ah, every time, even in the emperor's loving hands, it became harder and harder to leave his mind blank, and so the other night, when he had hurt so much, he had sought more.  
Even now, he felt his back arching to press his body more firmly against Asmodeusu, push his cock more deeply into him as he whimpered softly, fingers curling more tightly around the man's own.  
Asmodeus' own reasons for seeking him were, in a way, not much different.  
The way the boy had had enough fire in him to be sarcastic when they first met, even though he was a lowly slave in the hands of the emperor. The way even after being freed, and no matter what kindnesses he was shown, he was still bold enough to speak his mind. How he did not beg favors from him, but stood boldly alone, learning the ways of war. And perhaps, above all else, the lengths he went to to protect others, even if it meant his own sacrifice.  
No matter what the boy said, Asmodeus saw in him echoes of Katrina. And so making love to him helped him forget, too, if only for a little time.  
His pace grew slowly firmer, pressing Alphonse up against the wall hard enough to put a lovely pleasant pressure on his swollen cock, but not so hard as to harm his still tender ribs. His tempo increased, fingers knitting with Alphonse's own, their breath and their cries coming in unison as the fire rose within them both.  
It exploded; a haze of light and pleasure and nothingness that faded all too soon, leaving the dreary world to creep back in. Asmoeus stifled an unhappy sigh, nosing softly at Alphonse's shoulder.  
"Shall we bathe before bed, my dear one?"  
Alphonse opened his eyes, panting to catch his breath and saying nothing for a while, merely resting against the wall. When he did answer it was with a soft nod.  
Asmodeus moved back, their bodies untangling, and when Alphonse pushed himself back from the wall he stumbled. The emperor caught him before he could fall. Alphonse let out a startled squeak as he was lifted again, clutching at the man as he was carried towards the bath and blushing.  
Alphonse had gained weight since he'd freed him from Raphael, a true testament to the man's cruelty. The boy had told him once as they dined together, how the warlord's food paled in comparison to his, even when to him it had seemed like a banquet at the time...the smallest fruit a thousand times better than what the man usually fed him...  
He nuzzled Alphonse as he thought of this. It was a good thing, and thankfully the boy was still small and light, and he was able to carry him to the basin, laying him down on it and knocking on the wall to order warm water as he himself undressed and slipped in.  
The steaming bath was well received. Alphonse leaned tiredly against Asmodeus, and the man against him, the two sitting there quietly as the heat crept soothingly up muscles that were kept tensed far too often. No words were exchanged, but from time to time Asmodeus would move just slightly to nuzzle Alphonse, or touch his shoulder, or press more tightly to him for just a moment. Small, reassuring gestures that said 'I am here; do not be afraid' in a way that was gentle and affectionate. Alphonse found he enjoyed this very much, eyes closing... but as they did his thoughts and the fear they carried came back, the boy wincing and opening them hurriedly.  
Asmodeus had been watching him, the blonde's grimace not escaping his notice. He curled downward, pressing his face to the boy's nape, kissing his skin.  
"...Would you like to forget again, if only for a while?"  
If anything, Alphonse stiffened all the more at the man's words, his eyes growing wide at the suggestion and what it implied, face going red.  
He covered his face with his hands and shivered atop the emperor's lap. Then, after a moment of silence he nodded.  
The emperor did not know wether it was funny how bashful Alphonse was at being touched after everything he'd been through, or sad how ashamed he was at enjoying himself, at being loved.  
Asmodeus ran his hands gently, carefully down the blond's sides to calm him down, nuzzling his hair and whispering.  
"We could also just go to bed, if you would prefer" Alphonse was still in his hold for a moment, then stirred, slowly moving to turn around in his lap.  
He nuzzled back at the emperor's face.  
"N-no I...I want to..." And then he pressed forward and kissed him, trembling lips pressing gently over his.  
Asmodeus returned the gesture, but so lightly and so sweetly that Alphonse felt, heart pulsing, as if he were the one in control. It was strange... the emperor could be so harsh at times, vicious in his dealings with others, but the way he was with him... Alphonse neither feared him or feared that he might someday change his song and betray him. The man was nothing like Raphael in his love for him.  
There was the thought of the warlord again. Alphonse made a small croak of pain and Asmodeus broke the kiss to rub his head against him gently, coaxing him forward, up against the side of the tub. There he helped the boy lean comfortably back, his hips raised just above the water. Starting with soft kisses the emperor tasted all of him, lips, neck, shoulders and nipples, a soft trail down his belly, little sweet kisses just above his groin and at the inner edges of his thighs. Alphonse whimpered in soft pleasure, cock stirring without need of touch, and then at last Asmodeus knelt in the warm foam and began to suckle gently at the boy's sacs.  
The boy's hands went instinctively to his hair, his back arching as he moaned, pressing his groin more firmly against the emperor's mouth--and blushing still, as the man put in his mouth yet another part of his body, one he was not used to.  
He danced and sang against him, cries intensifying as the emperor left the boy's soft sacs in favor of his more sensitive shaft.  
The emperor was delighted to feel the way Alphonse relaxed and the way he cried at his touches, but he was even more delighted when his moans were interrupted by a more coherent sound.  
"a-Ah...Asmodeus...hah...  
The emperor's eyes flashed with a new kind of excitement. No mere whore had ever called him by name before. It was a pleasant intimacy, a soft one, and for just a moment he allowed himself to pretend the boy loved him back.  
Asmodeus worked Alphonse's cock with a gentleness that was nonetheless almost overwhelming to the blonde's young senses. He cried out over and over, hips moving in weak rhythm, until at last he gave himself over to orgasm and collapsed, trembling, back against the tub's side.  
Asmodeus straightened then, wiping away the seed lingering on the corners of his mouth and carefully turning the boy over. He pressed against him then, hard to soft, caressing Alphonse's sides and nosing at his hair. And then, at last, he entered him.  
The pace he set now was gentler than all the other times before, but for him and Alphonse, it was enough. The pleasures of sex were secondary to the feeling of being one, of hearts and breaths in unison, of warmth and peace and affection all around them. In that moment, in that sweet and evanescent escape, both of them forgot the memory of pain.  
The boy's face was proof of his peace. Eyes closed, he rested calmly against the side of the basin, letting out soft quiet moans as his body was gently rocked by the emperor's movements, the water barely disturbed by their lovemaking.  
Asmodeus' body was firmly but gebtly pressed against his at all times, barely leaving him as he moved back to push forward. The man's hands roamed lovingly over the blond's body, caressing and exploring, his face nuzzling at his hair, taking in his sweet, wonderful scent. He let out a pleased murmur as he felt the boy press back against those caresses.  
Despite his previous need to feel the emperor hard and deep inside him, he preferred his gentleness. He preferred soft loving movements that left no space for greed, a slow building up into the haze of pleasure that numbed his senses for longer, a warmth wrapped around him that never left him.  
He twisted in the man'd hold, very slightly, nuzzling at the emperor's face with a whimper before seeking out his lips again.  
Asmodeus withdrew fully then, for the first and only time, letting Alphonse turn in his hold. Their kiss resumed as their bodies melded, Alphonse's legs and arms tangled around Asmodeus, the larger man holding him close, continuing that sweet soft pace as the warm water lapped their skin.  
It was some time before they reached their peak, but the wait was well rewarded. Their climaxes came slow and long, their bodies trembling together at the rapture of union, the two holding tightly to one another and their hearts beating in time as they came. When it had faded away in the same slow, gentle way it had come, they did not immediately part from one another. Alphonse tucked his head beneath the emperor's chin and the man in turn rested his head atop him, both breathing deep in contentment.  
It was only when the worry of falling asleep right there in the water came to him that Asmodeus shook himself awake, nudging Alphonse lightly.  
"Bathe quickly, and then we'll go to sleep."  
Alphonse nodded slowly, carefully untangling himself from the emperor and shivering as his limp cock slipped out of him. They bathed quietly, rubbing away sweat and seed without bothering to apply soap.  
The two slipped out and Asmodeusu helped the boy dry before drying himself, then nudged him gently towards the bed, without bothering to put their clothes back on.  
He crawled onto the mattress first, then Alphonse followed, lithe little body pressed close to his own, the blond wrapping an arm around him and clinging to him as he wordlessly tucked his head down against the emperor's chest, eyes closed, the soft beat of his heart lulling him to sleep.  
The first pale light of dawn hadn't yet appeared when Alphonse felt Asmodeus nudging him gently awake.  
"You should return to your room now, Alphonse, before your goblin brother decides to assassinate me."  
A soft laugh, in part at his own joke, in part at how fiercely red Alphonse had gone at the insinuation. The man nuzzled him again, whispered.  
"There's something I would like to show you and your companions after our supper tonight. I think you will enjoy it."  
Alphonse nodded silently, letting out a tiny shameful whimper as he untangled himself from the emperor to crawl out of bed.  
Before he could go anywhere, Asmodeus grabbed him and pulled him close again, claiming his lips one more time before finally letting him go, quietly admiring the lovely shade of red his skin had turned to at that.  
Alphonse dressed up hastily, always res under the vigilance of the emperor's eyes, and when he was done he paused, looking at him one last moment, looking uncertainly at him before finally speaking.  
"I...I guess I'll see tonight..."  
With that he turned and left.  
He raced down the hall as the first rays of sunshine began creeping up the horizon. He came to an abrupt halt before the door to his bedroom, avoiding the guards' gazes as he quietly made his way inside.  
He was infinitely relieved to see all three of its innocupants still sleeping, made his way to his and Alex's bed and began crawling in with him.  
His brother stirred at that, eyes fluttering open to look at him.  
"Alphonse?...where were you?"  
"Uh....b-bathroom"  
"Oh...okay" His brother yawned, then sunk back down against the bed, patting the empty space next to him.  
"Come on, it's still early" He murmured. Alphonse did so quietly, feeling a heavy weight settle at the bottom of his stomach as his brother moved closer to him.  
A few hours later, when morning more properly began, it felt strange to Alphonse to get back into his usual routine. The events of yesterday seemed both only a nightmare and yet, at the same time, hauntingly real. He stumbled through breakfast half the time being glad it hadn't been real and half the time trembling because it had been.  
His brother and his companions were all supportive--none perhaps more so than Luke, who truly understood, as he did, what horrors had almost taken them. But at length breakfast was over, Alphonse moving again to the training fields, Alex at his side, Thomas and Luke heading to the bakery with promises to return for supper.  
Supper came--and passed--rather slowly, Alphonse picking at his food. Asmodeus kept glancing at him in concern, and Alex kept glaring back at him in thanks, squeezing his brother closer and looking more like a second head growing out of him than a whole independent person.  
Then at last the meal was over, Asmodeus standing and beckoning them to follow as he turned and left the room.  
"I'm sorry for taking so long to show you this, Alphonse," he said softly as they paced the dusty halls. "I was so busy, and you with your training, that I just never got to it before now..."  
They stopped beside a pair of broad doors, flanked by guards, and with a shove Asmodeus pushed them open, Alphonse and all the other's eyes widening.  
It was a library--massive, three stories up and encircled by a curling double staircase. If the sheer beauty of the books wasn't enough, speckled all around were huge potted plants, some actual small trees some twenty feet tall, filling the room with green. It was like walking into a forest and finding a bookstore.  
"I know your days are busy, but feel free to use it in the evenings, whenever you like."  
For the first time since he'd met him, the emperor saw a twinkle of life light up the boy's eyes.  
Alphonse surged forward--his brother following closely by his side.  
Alphonse's eyes roamed over the first row of books, paused on one with golden ornaments and picked it out, flipped it open and went through the pages. He let out an excited little gasps, eyes widening even more.  
"It has PICTURES!" He squeaked, moving over to a nearby table without taking his eyes off of it.  
Alex followed him there, grabbing the first book he could reach and glaring at Asmodeus the entire time.  
Asmodeus smiled softly. Alphonse's joy was more than enough to overshadow the other boy's... bitterness. Or was it jealousy? Ha ha.  
The emperor's gaze soon returned to the one he loved, and he was content. This was what he had hoped for; to see Alphonse find a new way to distract himself from his pain, one that didn't require his presence. Asmodeus hoped the allure would last until Raphael was dead and the boy was truly free.  
With these thoughts in mind, Asmodeus withdrew a random book and sat down in a nearby sofa. His mind was elsewhere, but he flipped absently through the pages nonetheless.  
Luke and Thomas, meanwhile, looked every bit as delighted as Alphonse did. Luke actually laughed, a pure sweet sound, and hurried over to join Alphonse in admiring the illuminations, Thomas following contently along behind.  
AN hour passed like that—two, three, four, until Alex yawned beside his brother, resting his head against his shoulder and winning.  
"Can we go now? I'm sleepy and there's practice tomorrow!"  
Alphonse started, looking away from his book for the first time since they had started.  
"O-Oh…oh, right, I almost forgot…I guess we should go…" He said, sounding sad at having to leave. Nonetheless he pushed the book close and his chair back. He paused then, looking towards the emperor and smiling.  
"Thank you emperor I…I never thought I'd even get to see one of these…I….is it okay if I come back—there are just so many books!" He squeaked, voice cracking with excitement.  
Asmodeus grinned, and for once the emotion touched his eyes.  
"Of course, Alphonse. Use it as much as you wish. To be honest, if you'd like, you may all sleep here for the night; the couches are quite comfortable, and I can have blankets brought."  
Luke's eyes lit up at the idea, something so simple, yet so wonderful and unexpected and at the same time perfectly normal. It was the type of suggestion people made when they were at home and happy and there was nothing to be afraid of, and for a moment, he almost thought he was.  
Thomas looked a bit more doubtful, still not willing to trust the emperor's intent entirely, even if the past few hours had been a blessed relief. He glanced at Alphonse and Alex, awaiting their verdict.  
Alphonse reacted much in the same fashion Luke had done, smiling and nodding his head furiously.  
"Yes! Please—and thank you!" He chirped, hastily sitting back down with his book once more. Alex on the other hand looked too tired to put on much of a fight, and instead settled with leaning against his brother while continuing to glare at the emperor, although the seriousness of his glare was upset with his efforts to stifle down another yawn and remain awake.  
Asmodeus stood, stretching and smiling, then trotted over to the door to instruct the servants to bring a few extra blankets. Luke, meanwhile, tugged excitedly at Alphonse's sleeve.  
“Come on, bookworm! Let's go look around and see if we can't find the comfiest couches. You can bring your book with you!"  
Alphonse answered with his own grin, tucking the tome under his arm--and a moment later he and Luke were loping off like happy children, exploring every inch of the ground floor before setting off up the staircases with cries of delight. Thomas and Alex exchanged glances, sighed, and pelted off after their charges--but in short order they too had joined in on the chase, all four racing up the stairs, laughing.  
Asmodeus paused where he stood at the door, watching them go and smiling.  
After a dozen or so minutes of frantic searching, the verdict was settled. The third floor offered a superb view of the city and lake through wide windows, and perhaps even better, the domed glass roof let all the stars shine through. The group found a cluster of four couches close together and made themselves comfortable, thanking the servants that eventually appeared bearing them blankets, and then all lay on their backs looking at the stars. For a time they were silent, but then Thomas started a story, and soon they were all sharing tales and jokes of their own, laughing. It felt very much like being at peace, and in time, one by one, they began to drift into sleep.  
Alphonse was the last to go.  
He stared upwards with tired eyes turned up to the sky. His brother's body was a warm comfortable weight against his own. The other boy had jealously curled around on him on his couch instead of taking his own, wrapping his arms around his brother and dozing off to sleep comfortable on his chest.  
Alphonse caught a movement from the corner of his eyes, turned to see the emperor, checking up on them one last time before retiring to his own bed.  
He gave the man a smile. Genuine and pure and devoid of any sadness  
His lips silently mouthed a 'thank you' and then he allowed himself to close his eyes, curling in more deeply against his brother on the couch, warm and safe under soft sheets.  
Asmodeus smiled back, even when Alphonse could no longer see him. The emperor looked at the boy for a good while longer before moving down the staircases and settling into a padded chair on the first floor, letting his eyes close. It was easier to forget in a seat made for one that he slept in a bed made for two.  
The next few days passed almost pleasantly, even though they were filled with hard work. During the days Alphonse worked hard at training, sometimes side by side with his brother at the archery range, sometimes with his brother more privately, his sibling teaching him the ways of hidden darts and knives and making sure he was equipped with both. Thomas and Luke spent their days at the bakery, preparing for war in their own ways, but at night all four gathered for supper with the emperor and reading and finally sleep after. The joy of those nights kept Alphonse moving through the long days, and never once did an evening fail to meet his hopes for food, companionship, and laughter.  
It was at the end of a week, when they had again all chosen to sleep in the library, that Alphonse was awoken by Asmodeus' agitated voice calling his name. Blinking sleep from his eyes the boy looked up at him, and Asmodeus opened and shut his mouth several times before reluctantly speaking.  
"Raphael has arrived outside the walls. Please train within the inner courtyards today--I don't want you going far."  
If there was any sleep within him it was gone at those words. His eyes snapped open, and his body trembled so hard that he woke his brother with them. Alex opened his eyes with a start, gazing down at his brother's terrified face and pulling him close.  
"Alphonse—Alphonse! Alphonse what is wrong? Calm down please" He turned then, noticing Asmodeusu, narrowed his eyes and drew his brother more closely, hissing hatefully.  
"What did you do to him?!" At that his brother tucked his face against his chest, whimpering as he clung back to his twin.  
"H-he's here…" He said simply. His brother had not told him much of what had happened before he'd fallen into the emperor's hands, but Alex knew enough to understand those words.  
His hold on his brother relaxed slightly, and he carefully stroked his back to calm him down, murmuring comforting words and encouraging him to breathe slowly.  
When he had finally calmed down enough, Alphonse turned in his brother's hold to regard the emperor once more. Much like the older man had done, his mouth opened and closed several times before he was finally able to push the words out of him.  
"I…I-I want to see..."  
"Given your health, I do not think that is wise," Asmodeus said, slow.  
"I only told you at all because I knew you would hear one way or the other."  
Alphonse shuddered, still looking terrified, but there was an odd determination in his eyes.  
"I have s-seen his face many times before e-emperor, and it has not done much worse than he himself…you t-told me…it is d-done…but I need to s-see…with my own e-eyes…so my mind won't spin nightmares worse than the truth"  
Asmodeus still looked none too pleased, but what could he do? There was work to be done, and he wouldn't be able to keep watch over Alphonse all day. Better then to allow him a short look now in the hopes that he did not return for more later.  
With a long loud sigh that suggested a returned headache, the emperor nodded and gestured at Alphonse to follow. The boy did so--and then paused, turning. A faint sound had indicated Luke's awakening, but he was staring fixedly at the floor rather than after them. After another moment's hesitation, Alphonse and Alex continued on alone.  
The strength of the walls so quickly erected was a sign of how much power Asmodeus held over his people. But Alphonse gave no thought to the labors that had gone into the mere month long creation of thirty feet walls, instead following quietly behind as Asmodeus led him up the scaffolding, past a multitude of tensed soldiers and to the top, where the scorched land the kingdom had left behind stretched out before them. There, dotted widely across the burnt plains, were a vast armada of tents and horses and soldiers--roughly four thousand in all, by Asmodeus' estimate, as he had predicted before.  
The emperor drew close to Alphonse as he looked, speaking softly.  
"We expect an attack will begin this evening. Please stay close to the castle, Alphonse."  
But if Alphonse heard him he gave no indication. Even as he clung to the emperor's robes with a trembling hand, his eyes were focused elsewhere.  
His eyes ran cautiously over the many tents and soldiers spread before them, looking for that one flash of white among them.  
And there it was. Astride a horse, flanked by the black haired demon and several other monsters, galloping towards the wall--  
Asmodeus shoved both him and a snarling Alex down with a hiss.  
"Stay down! Archers at the ready."  
Closer and closer the frll fleet came, at last drawing up just short of accurate arrow range. Raphael looked up at Asmodeus, scornful.  
"And the serpent himself appears. What a treat; I thought I'd have to call for you."  
"As pleasant as it is to see you again, I ask that you state your business and be gone."  
"Well, you see, as much as I would like to kill you, it might be best for both of us to resume our previous relationship. If you return my slave to me, and restore our treaty--"  
"Crawl back to your den, dog. I have no intent to do either."  
Asmodeus did not look down at the boy, but he didn't need to to know he was terrified. He could feel him trembling against his leg, clinging to him. And how despite knowing the emperor would never give him back to Raphael, he let out a broken little sob, his breath quickening.  
Alex wanted to stand up, snatch a bow and shoot the bastard himself, but for the sake of his brother, he was not as reckless. Instead he grabbed Alphonse and, murmuring reassurances, guided him towards the scaffolds, taking him away from the danger, a mere flash of gold flashing over the wall beside the emperor as he took him away.  
The glinting did not go unnoticed by Raphael; he growled.  
"Is he up there with you?"  
"Going blind already?" Asmodeus sneered, raising his wrist and letting the sun wink off the golden ring on his finger.  
"Your lover is at the bottom of the lake. You won't be seeing him again, I'm afraid."  
"Curious indeed, considering my companion saw him alive a week past."  
"Yes, the little bitch tried to escape in some merchant's wagon. Claimed he was trying to return to you so you'd spare his family. How nice it was that your man drove him back for me! He was punished with death for trying, of course."  
Raphael, who had had the unimpressed sneer of someone calling a bluff before, looked suddenly uneasy. He glanced at Lucian, who patted his shoulder.  
"Sounds like horseshit to me, buddy."  
Asmodeus leaned forward now, chin on his hand, grinning like a cat.  
"I drowned him in the lake myself. He was so very weak. It was quite pleasant, really."  
Raphael's nostrils flared, hand instinctively going to his sword in rage--and in that moment Asmodeus flicked his hand to his archers. The rain of arrows that fell then was avoided by the swiftly turning charge of Raphael and his men's mounts, the group retreating back to the main force as Raphael gritted his teeth hard together. The man was lying, he had to be, but if he wasn't--!  
Asmodeus straightened then, looking off into the rusted horizon before making his way down the wall. There was much to be done, and little time indeed.  
When he reached the bottom of the scaffold he found Alphonse there, sobbing where his brother held him.  
He picked him up and away from Alex, and surprisingly the other little blond dis not fight, merely followed.  
The emperor got on his horse, carrying the blond with him--grunting when Alex got on behind them. He did not bother arguing. It would be a short ride, and his horse could take the weight for a few minutes.  
Once in the castle he took him back to the library instead of his bedroom, knowing the place would be better in helping him calm down. And it worked, Alphonse's cries quieting down to nothing, his shudders and breathing calming down as he saw himself away from the threat, surrounded by friends.  
It was then, all of a sudden and seemingly out of nowhere that the blond stiffened, turned towards Thomas.  
"T-Thomas...please be honest...do y-you really think...my parents are s-safe? That no matter how much he l-looks for them, he won't be able to find them? Please...I need to know..."  
Thomas nodded fiercely.  
"That place has always protected us... and, after all, they didn't go alone."  
Still holding Luke close to his side, Thomas stepped forward, clapping a hand to Alphonse's shoulder and smiling.  
"They'll be fine, Alphonse. And so will you."  
The emperor himself spoke then.  
"I believe we will win this war... but, as an extreme precaution, I have arranged a convoy of guards and supplies to run north with you. Their horses are desert bred, so they will equal our enemies in speed. They should see you to this safe haven of which you speak."  
Thomas looked oddly discomforted at this, and Asmodeus grimaced.  
"You do not trust my men, so I have also arranged accommodation for your... workers... to join you. Between all of you my men should not pose a threat. I do not believe they will betray you to begin with, though; I handpicked these men myself for their loyalty and virtue. Seth trusts them, and that means a good deal to me."  
"You are generous beyond words, emperor. Thank you."  
There was no sarcasm in that, only shock in his eyes, and Thomas offered Asmodeus a deep bow.  
At Thomas's words, Alphonse had seemed half reassured, but when Asmodeus spoke, he seemed to relax completely. Even Alex seemed surprised at his words as well, so much so that he didn't protest when Alphonse clung to him and sobbed his thanks.  
Instead the other boy merely scoffed, looking away as if in shame.  
"I guess you're alright after all..."  
The emperor allowed himself to grin at those words, and in response Alex glared at him, leaning in as he narrowed his eyes.  
"But we won't need none of that because you'll kill that bastard alright?"  
"Of course."  
Asmodeus still smiled as he said that, but the expression dulled slightly all the same. Raphael wouldn't have approached him and asked for a new treaty if he felt at all confident, presumably, and yet... something felt off. Maybe it was just the weight of war in the air. The emperor looked down on Alphonse in silence for a minute before setting him down on a couch and nodding to them all.  
"Thomas, I suggest you inform your people of the plan--if we have to flee, we'll be doing so from the back stables. Everything's being kept there. If you wish, you can invite them to stay at the castle for now as well; I'll have rooms set aside."  
"Thank you, my lord," Thomas said, bowing deeply again. Asmodeus nodded distractedly and then excused himself, hurrying out of the library. So much to be done, still, and night was all too near, even when dawn had only just begun.  
Thomas and Luke excused themselves shortly after to do as they were told. Alphonse, in turn, eventually drifted out of the library to the little courtyard Asmodeus had set aside for their practice, stocked with bows and archery targets for both. After Alphonse missed every one two dozen times (and Alex struck each in the heart two dozen times) they retired again to the library, where Alphonse managed to lose himself again in the world of books. He was surprised when supper came--had the day passed so quickly?--and met up with Luke, Thomas, and the latters' workers in the dining hall. Asmodeus himself was not present; a servant apologized on his behalf, saying he was very busy. Despite the great deal of chatter that took place at the supper, Alphonse barely registered any of it and only picked at his food, and then he retired to bed, early--and in the library.  
So much had been done to ensure his safety, but even so, he wanted one last guaranteed night between books and below the stars. It was many long hours before he fell asleep, head on his brother's lap, the other couches all around filled with the gentle snores of his fellow comrades.  
Morning came. There had been no attack in the night. Another day passed with bated breath, another uneasy night, and then... morning again.  
Asmodeus did not like this in the least. There was no reason for Raphael to delay and in doing so waste even more of his valuable food supply. Unless he simply wanted to give his men a day or two of rest to give them their full strength? They would see.  
Three more days passed. The tension was hotter than the desert sun. Asmodeus grew more agitated by the hour. What on earth was he WAITING for? Over and over Seth and he looked for something they had missed, but there was nothing. The barbarians of the southern mountains had no reason to lend their support to the efforts, nothing to gain that their slaves couldn't already give them. The same was true of the pirate whores of the coast. Neither had more food to spare than was needed to support themselves, so, why...?  
The light of the seventh morning came, and with it cries of despair.  
Massive boats had been seen gliding up the thick river. They didn't come to the city's gates, but stopped well back, beside Raphael's camp. There--there!--the bastards began to unload seaweed and coconuts, fishes and crabs, a massive bounty of the sea. Raphael's men would not be starved out. And at the front of it all, chatting happily with Raphael himself, was a red haired devil Asmodeus had hoped never to see again. He clenched his hands so hard into the wall that Seth looked at him in alarm.  
"That fucking BITCH!”  
The pirate queen of the south had deigned to become temporary farmer to support Raphael's war. Why? Oh, Asmodeus could guess too well what she had been promised. Him and Seth and all the other fair men of the city, bound and naked for her pleasure. He was trembling so hard in rage as he went down from the wall that a few times Seth almost had to grab him to keep him from falling. They had lost the advantage of siege. All they had now was walls and more numbers... but their troops were untrained and afraid.  
Asmodeus made his way slowly to the library. Several dozen pairs of eyes looked up at his entrance, and all showed horror as he quietly explained the development to Alphonse.  
When he was done, Alphonse remained unmoving where he was, staring past him with blank eyes—no tears, no tremors, just silence.  
He stirred slightly when his brother calls his name, shook him. He turned to look at his tween, confusion on his face, as if he wasn't expecting to see him there, as if he'd thought he was elsewhere.  
Ah, so this was it, that dark, heavy weight inside him, the one that would not go away no matter how many reassurances he was given.  
The city would fall, either starved out or under Raphael's sword, it did not matter. He remembered the emperor had promised them an escape, a way out, but unless Raphael and his army came in, abandoned their surrounding stations around the city, that plan was useless too.  
He grabbed Alex's hand tightly.  
"Alex…Alex please, don't leave my side alright? Don't ever stray away from me"  
His voice was strangely calm as he spoke, but his twin looked at him with worry even then, hesitating for a moment before he nodded.  
"I…I won't, I promise"  
"Good….good" And then he leaned back against the couch once more, those big blank eyes fixing back onto the book on his lap while he kept his fingers intertwined with his brother's.  
Asmodeus too didn't move, despite the apparent lack of fear on Alphonse's part. If anything, it was that unnatural peace that frightened him all the more.  
He reached out suddenly, stroking Alphonse's hair, light and soft.  
"I will do everything in my power, Alphonse. Everything."  
The boy looked up at him with that same vacant expression, simply staring at him silently for a long moment. He reached out, seeking his hand, and he took it, gently squeezing his fingers.  
"I know you will emperor, thank you..."  
His eyes strayed down from the man's eyes to his hand, and when he spoke again his voice was so quiet the emperor barely heard him.  
"I would ask you to stay one last time...but you have much to do..."  
"I will return as soon as I am able." Asmodeus replied, squeezing the boy's fingers gently in turn. He looked down at him for a good while longer, heedless of Alex's growing annoyance, and when he finally left he did so with many glances back over his shoulder.  
'As soon as he was able' turned out to be very much later. Day slammed into night as the emperor and Seth and a series of other strategists discussed options, positioned troops strategically around walls and city, planned the rationing of food and supplies. In the end their preferred strategy was the same as before; wait, withstand, and hope the pirates soon grew tired of playing farmers and stopped supplying Raphael's army.  
With that verdict and many others reached, Asmodeus at long last made his tired way to Alphonse's room--found it empty--went to the library, found the bottom floor empty--cursed and made his way up three merciless flights of stairs. When he arrived, there they all were, asleep, Alphonse and Alex curled closely together like cats beneath their warm blankets. Asmodeus looked on for a moment before turning and quietly beginning to leave.  
Slowly, reluctantly he made his way back down the stairs, grimacing without intending to as he thought of returning to his bed alone.  
He made it to the first floor and paused, feeling a gentle tug on his sleeve. He turned and saw Alphonse there, clinging to his robes as he looked silently up at him.  
He did not say a word, instead moved forward, pressing himself tightly against the emperor and shivering, all the while remaining silent.  
There it was, the fear and worry that had not shown itself when he had first told the boy their new situation.  
Asmodeus wrapped his arms around him and said nothing, and for quite some time both were silent. The emperor's calmness and the warmth of his arms around him in time soothed Alphonse to some degree, his trembles diminishing if not vanishing entirely, his eyes half closed as he drooped willingly into the man's embrace. When Asmodeus did speak it startled him, the boy looking up at the interruption of stillness.  
"I am sorry I cannot protect you better, dear one."  
There was so much more he wished to say. Apologies, pleas, screams of rage and despair at how close he had become to yet again losing all he loved, despite all the years of preparation and vicious caution that had cost him his soul. Yet he said none of this, not letting his voice betray him, feigning strength for Alphonse's sake. The only glimpse he allowed through was one of weariness, his head dipping to rest against the boy's, eyes closing.  
The boy shook his head gently against his own, their skin never parting from one another.  
"You have done enough...I have been happier this past month than I thought I'd ever be again, and it's all thanks to you...whatever happens...I will always have that..." He murmured quietly. They rested against one another for a moment longer, and then Alphonse pulled slightly back, still clinging to his robes.  
"Will you stay?"  
The emperor looked uncertainly down at him at that, barely hiding a grimace. Alphonse laughed softly, knowing the reason behind his reaction, knowing the reasons behind it.  
"You have earned this emperor and he knows it, even if he doesn't like it"  
The boy took his hand, and up the darned flight of stairs they went again, towards the couch where his brother still slept.  
Alex stirred as the two crawled in with him, glaring angrily at the emperor but doing nothing to stop it but muttering something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like 'gross' to him.  
Alphonse curled up against him, and Alex curled up jealously against Alphonse, glaring angrily at him until he fell asleep again--frown still on his face.  
"You won't let him kill me in my sleep, will you?" Asmodeus asked, playfully anxious. Alphonse chuckled at that and snuggled more tightly against him, and the emperor nuzzled him back in turn, one arm wrapped around him. The other stroked Alex's back gently, but there was no carnal thought to the gesture. It was Alphonse's soul he wanted, more than his flesh, and that could be found in Alphonse and Alphonse alone. He simply wished he could protect the other boy as well... and even Luke, and Thomas, and all the other assorted rabble around them. It was strange, feeling so protective. Asmodeus decided he didn't like it, and fell asleep with a frown much like Alex's as his mind wandered off into the darkness of dreams. How could he keep any of them safe, much less his nephew and Alphonse, when he had failed Katrina...?


	6. Chapter 6

Asmodeus awoke with the dawn light, stretching, uncomfortably sore from all that damn stair taking. The others were still asleep around him, and thinking it best they stay that way, he gently slipped free of the twins, setting their heads carefully down on the cushions and moving towards the stairwell--pausing as he saw a servant waiting for him, bowing.  
"Emperor Asmodeus, one of the enemy commanders--the pirate Maeve--has requested audience with you at the wall. She wishes to arrange a deal."  
"Oh I bet she fucking does," Asmodeus hissed, moving to follow the man all the same.  
He stepped firmly forward, glaring at nothing as he went down the stairs--pausing and turning at the sound of lighter steps behind him. Alphonse was there, looking at him.  
"I want to go."  
The emperor frowned, calmly turned towards him.  
"...it would be best if you didn't, Alphonse. You did not do so well last time, and as long as they don't know you are alive... if anything happens you will still have a chance to run."  
Alphonse whimpered, but stepped forwards instead of back.  
"I-I'll be fine, I promise, and I can stay hidden...but I have to know...this is also my war..."  
The emperor considered for a moment, then gave his reluctant approval, turning again to follow the servant away. Alphonse was soon by his side, taking his hand and walking with him as they made their way back towards the barrier. As they made their way up the scaffold, Alphonse stayed behind. Close enough to hear, but always out of sight. He gave the signals for his archers to be prepared, then turned towards the horizon.  
There she was, mounted on a horse right behind the broken arrows they had shot at Raphael and his men the day before. Her grin widened when she saw him.  
"Hello love~"  
"State your business and leave, whore," he hissed. She answered his words with laughter.  
"Always the charmer, emperor. But you might want to be kinder to me, after all, I've brought a deal you can't refuse." He said nothing, merely glared, and so she went on.  
"The warlord is very upset with you, he thinks you have murdered his poor lover. It's made him very angry, he wants you dead for it, but I'd rather keep you alive."  
"His whore is dead, but let him know he shouldn't worry about it, I'll send him and his men after him soon enough."  
Maeve grinned.  
"I doubt you will be winning this war, and I doubt you killed the little bed warmer--after going through the trouble of snatching him away from Raphael, risking your men for the sake of a single slave. He must be very beautiful for the both of you to crave his flesh so much, I'd love to get to see him too~"  
"I could fetch whatever's left of him from the lake if you want him that much. Now begone, before I have my archers use you as target practice."  
"Let us make a trade emperor. Bring me the boy, and I will give you what no other slaver has~"  
He began lifting his arm, motioning for his archers to shoot. That was when the woman turned her horse for the first time. There, sitting behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her, was a young boy, wide green eyes fixed on his, black hair ruffling on the wind. The pirate queen watched him, and smiled.  
A strangled noise, his entire body convulsing, hand trembling where it was still half held in the air.  
NO.  
Years ago. His wife's murder. Years later, his brother's murder. The disappearance of one of his kin's two children. He had searched in vain for so long before accepting and having another stone monument raised upon the tomb. How could the boy have survived? Who would have taken him and not bargained with his life far sooner? Yet there he was, a mirror of his nephew within the castle, the boy he had sacrificed his soul to keep safe. In the hold of the whore. It was impossible and yet all the pieces slid neatly into place. They had been allies, once, trading from port to lake, until the day she'd tried to drug and enslave him. He had not seen her since he'd chased her out of the city. Yet hadn't he wondered at her silence all those years? How easy she could have slipped in, on some unassuming little boat, and stolen away his nephew in the chaos and despair of his brother’s fall.  
He could have stayed frozen forever, staring at the gloating bitch, if Alphonse hadn't suddenly tried to stand up beside him. Asmodeus grabbed him by the hair harder than he intended, forcing him down below the wall before he could be seen.  
"The boy is dead," he said, voice hollow, "but you can have me."  
He could see the excitement on her face, eyes and grin widening, the woman licking her lips before she spoke, happily twirling her horse in an excited little circle.  
"Deal!"  
"No!"  
Despite his strength, Alphonse struggled free of his hold, standing by his side, where he could be seen. He grabbed at the emperor's robes and shook him,looking both desperate and terrified.  
"You can't--you can't! You might as well open the city gates and let them walk right in! T-they won't win the w-war, not without you! You're all that stands between them and...a-and us...my brother...Luke..."  
The boy began sobbing as his mind reached the only possible conclusion of his speech, trembling violently. Asmodeus would not leave his nephew in the hands of the enemy, and without the emperor the city would fall. All it would take was Raphael promising to spare their lives if they surrendered a war .  
He stepped back, the emperor a dark smudge in front of him, tears clouding his vision.  
"I-I'll go...you c-can't protect me emperor, b-but you can protect your nephew, your people...my b-brother...I knew this day would come, I'm r-ready," he sobbed, lying.  
The pirate queen whistled.  
"Oh my, you're making this so hard on me~ You're both so cute I can't choose which one I'd rather keep!"  
Asmodeus grabbed him and snarled, looking more vicious than he ever had.  
"Damn it, Alphonse, why couldn't you stay quiet!"  
The boy simply clutched at his sleeves in response, sobbing wretchedly, begging. In answer Asmodeus grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him down, speaking in a soft growl.  
"I am not a military leader, Alphonse, I never was--I rule through fear and paranoia, that's all, that's all it ever was. Seth is the one with experience in warfare, and he'll still be here with you--"  
It was at that moment that the general himself rode up from where he had been posted nearby, jerking his horse to a stop and speaking to the emperor in agitated tones.  
"You can't possibly do this--that boy might just be some look alike, and even if he was the real thing, he's clearly unharmed, we can reclaim him when we win--"  
"No, no. But listen to me--"  
The emperor grabbed his general's collar, pulling him down and whispering something too low for Alphonse to hear. Seth straightened up, looking appalled.  
"A hundred things could go wrong with this--even if it succeeds, you could be captured or killed--"  
"I am doing it whether you like it or not. If I fail, protect Alphonse and Ezekiel to the end."  
Asmodeus stood again, turning to face Maeve, voice ringing out clear over the wall.  
"Come within range of the archers. They won't shoot while you have my nephew. I will come out to you and then you will release him."  
Her answer to his words was laughter.  
"Come on dear emperor, you know me better than that! One does not become pirate queen by running into harm's way for a nice ass!" She raised her hand to her mouth, whistled loudly, a sound different than the one before, a signal.  
Two more horses came apart from the mass of tents, stopping at her sides. Mounted archers.  
"Come to me darling, your nephew will take one step for each one you give. He will reach the castle as you reach me—and if you try to run back, I will shoot you both~"  
Alphonse sobbed from where he lay at the emperor's feet, clinging to his leg.  
“Asmodeus p-please! He will kill you! You will w-win this war right? Then at least if I-I go, we will meet again," he croaked miserably.  
Asmodeus hesitated, but not for Alphonse's sake. He had hardly expected Maeve to go defenseless, yet at the same time, seeing the threat... No, rather, knowing it would be aimed at his nephew as well frightened him.  
Perhaps... he could claim to have changed his mind, send out Alphonse instead, except the 'Alphonse' in question would be a carefully bound, gagged, and covered Prince. They looked similar enough from a distance, and Maeve hadn't seen either in person before. Yet even if that succeeded, while it would retrieve his nephew, it would not meet his second vital goal.  
"Alphonse... I have a plan, one that I believe will give us a considerable advantage if we win. Even if I am caught, I do not think she will let Raphael kill me. So, please, trust me."  
Alphonse opened his mouth to protest, and in that moment Asmodeus leaned in and kissed him.  
The gesture was all too short lived, Asmodeus drawing away and gesturing for a few guards to hold Alphonse so he couldn't follow.  
"Be safe, Alphonse. I love you."  
Seth meanwhile had been gawking, looking horrified, but Asmodeus snapped at him in an angry whisper.  
"Ready the troops!"  
Archers bristled on the walls as Asmodeus and Seth ducked out of sight. It was several minutes before the massive gate opened, only ever so slightly, leaving the emperor standing alone before the gap.  
Gone were his robes of office, stripped down to a tight black shirt and dark pants and boots, leaving no space for a concealed blade. Alphonse, watching in horror from the wall, thought he looked more frail and tired then then he had ever seen him, even all those nights he had been undressed and exhausted. The man's eyes, however, were fixed on Maeve, and he began to pace slowly forward.  
The woman grinned, her eyes tracing his whole body once before she moved, getting off her horse and then grabbing the boy, pulling him off the horse and setting him carefully on the floor.  
she leaned in, kissing him even as she kept an eye on the emperor. When she pulled back, she gently smacked his ass, pushing the boy forward.  
"Go on love, go to your brother~" She purred, watching the emperor walk towards her as she unseated the sword at her side, waiting for him.  
The boy shuffled slowly forward, looking more reluctant than any presumably kidnapped prince had the right to be. Asmodeus too marched forward, until at last they were face to face. The prince gave him a glance with raised eyebrows, then moved to step around him. Asmodeus, however, reached out to touch him--  
"Keep moving, love," Maeve purred, her archers narrowing their eyes meaningfully. Asmodeus shuddered and let his arm drop, slowly began stepping forward anew, even as his eyes remained fixed on his kin.  
At last, the boy was before the gates, and Asmodeus was before Maeve. He looked up at her, lips drawn in a tight line, silent.  
She grinned, gestured towards the camp with her head, sword raised towards him.  
"Go on love, your new home is waiting~"  
His eyes narrowed all the further, the faintest hint of a frown flicking on his lips. Aww, perhaps things weren't going as the poor dear wanted, but they were going just as SHE wanted, and even the thought that Raphael would soon be screaming at her wasn't enough to hinder her enthusiasm. Asmodeus lowered his head and, when he heard the sound of the gate beginning to close behind him--with his nephew safely inside--he began to shuffle towards the camp.  
She let him walk past her, in front of her and her archers. The emperor stumbled as he was kicked, the pirate laughing behind her.  
"Faster you beautiful bastard, it has been so long," she said, practically moaning the last words. To the emperor, it seemed like they had reached the midst of the camp all too soon, but for the pirate it seemed like ages had passed.  
As soon as they were in its midst, she had one of the soldiers move forward, tie his arms behind his back. She took him past the camp then, towards the ship.  
Once they had reached hers, she cheated her sword. Arms wrapped around him from behind, one of her hands went straight between his legs, groping him firmly. She let out one happy sight.  
"I have waited so long for you to be right where you belong~"  
She felt him up a moment longer, then pushed him forward—paused.  
The emperor looked up, saw a girl about his nephew's age staring at them with wide unhappy brown eyes and a big swollen belly on her middle.  
She whimpered softly. Maeve sighed.  
"Sweetie, we went through this remember? Zeke will be back in a couple of days alright?" The pirate paused again then, grinning and leaning against the emperor.  
"And you—put on a smile would you? You're going to be a grandfather! Sort of," She teased, laughing and pushing him towards her chambers  
It took only a second for the words to sink in. His eyes dilated, too stunned even for horror, and then he twisted on her like a dog on meat--paused just before his mouth met her throat, making a choking little sound and looking abruptly away.  
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then he was kicked on his stomach, and kicked again down to the floor. She was on him in a second, pulling out a handkerchief and gagging him, straddling his waist. When she was done, she took a moment to admire her job, reaching out and stroking his hair very gently.  
"That was so kind of you love, to offer yourself for the boy? I didn't know you had it in you… Raphael won't be happy, but I am."  
Her hand left his hair, slowly caressed down his face, neck, collar, chest and belly. She pushed his shirt up, lifting herself up on her knees as she moved to pull his pants down, breath quickening.  
"You know, your nephew is so handsome, he always made me think of you… but still, not as good as you~"  
Her hands were on his cock, caressing, squeezing, and all the while he greedy blue eyes remained fixed on his face, hungry for the misery that his pleasure would bring him.  
He grunted unhappily--then jerked his knee up, lashing out with both legs. Maeve dodged him all too easily, laughing, and he cursed his age inwardly.  
Nonetheless, his attempt gave him the opening he needed. With a few more grunts of discomfort than he'd intended to let out he scrambled back and away from her, wriggling up against the wall and in doing so gaining his legs. He glared at her, then, even as at the same time he scraped his face roughly against the room's wooden siding, pushing the gag down off his face.  
Maeve purred as she slowly got to her feet. A beast waiting to pounce on her prey.  
"Come on emperor, you can't possibly get out of this one. Even if you killed me, that would still leave you surrounded by an entire army, and I am the only thing getting between you and the warlord's sword…You might as well give up and enjoy it, get on my bed, get your dick wet, and if you behave, I'll let you see your nephews too~"  
Asmodeus' only answer was a still further narrowing of his eyes. Dragons below, he looked so aggressive and dominant even when he was both helpless and old! Maeve absolutely loved it, only just biting back a squeal of glee as she sauntered over, grinning, cornering the man back against the wall and purring as she took his head in her hands.  
"Oh, love, you're so handsome when you're angry! Makes me want to kiss you, although you're a bad boy and would probably try to bite your mistress, hm?"  
One of her hands caressed his chin while the other drifted back to his shaft. Truth be told, she wasn't overly worried about him biting her; it might be kind of kinky, and if he was too rough she could punish him~  
He didn't make the effort, however. His head lowered, another soft choking noise leaving him as she massaged his sex. Such a cute little sound of despair. Maybe the poor thing was regretting not sending the slave--  
Asmodeus snapped forward, at her shoulder, and she felt a prickling and fleeting pain before everything went black. Asmodeus looked down at her as she slumped to the floor, breathing hard, the goblin dart he had been carrying in his mouth just now visible between his teeth.  
Asmodeus took a moment to breathe. He had started to think he wouldn't make it--the bitch had thwarted him at every turn, like she KNEW, not bending down to fondle him when she'd first received him, marching him all the way into the stinking camp, binding his arms and trying to bind his mouth. But he'd shown her, hadn't he?  
The emperor crept forward, shouldering the door shut and locking it before laying down beside Maeve, squirming painfully on his back until his hands found the hilt of her sword, dragging it out just enough to reveal a hint of gleaming edge and sawing through the ropes that held his wrists. When he was free he stood again, looked around the room--gave Maeve's body a contemptuous kick as he did so, and a bit of spit besides. Everything he needed was here--good--but it was still going to be a bitch and a half trying to get out of there alive.  
The first order of business was arming himself with two of the concealed knives Maeve was wearing. The second was to stride over to her closet, rummaging through for two cloaks. The third and final saw him going to her dresser, hastily tying his hair back, darkening his face with some of the facial powders, and then hesitating. Why did it have to be fucking daylight? With an internal curse he grabbed a few more jars of powder and knelt before Maeve, darkening her hair as best he could in meager time. With this done he stood, wrapping both himself and her in cloaks before throwing her over his shoulder with a grunt.  
For, no, the whore wasn't dead. How tempted he had been to bring some of the goblins' poisons! But no, the risk was to great if he accidentally pricked himself while carrying the dart, and in the end she would be more use alive than dead. And more soothing to kill, too.  
Asmodeus drew close to the door, listening tensely, and when he heard nothing he opened it and went out, closing and locking the door behind himself. Maeve no doubt got her fair share of visitors; with a little luck, that would delay them noticing her absence. Then it was step by careful step through the stomach of the ship, waiting or ducking into nearby rooms whenever noise drew too close, until at last he was on the deck.  
Fucking fuck! There were a pair of soldiers standing at the end of the plank, looking out--the same brutes as before. Asmodeus drew his cloak more tightly around his head, praying that visitors were a common sight to the slut's boat. If not he was going to have to drop the bitch and run. He stumbled mock drunkenly down the plank, laughing giddily and jostling Maeve's limp body as he did so.  
"Drinking before we even won! S-Schtupid, why you always gotta--do this? Didn't even save any for me!"  
Apparently rubbish WERE a common sight there, for the guards gave him only a passing glimpse before ignoring him again. As far as they knew, they were in the middle of safe grounds and their mistress was fucking the bound emperor at that very moment. What was there to watch for?  
He slouched his way along, feeling quite lucky, until he got near the stables. When no one was looking he slipped inside, dropping the drunk facade, eyes gleaming as he spotted Maeve's horse munching contently on a pile of hay.  
Asmodeus slipped inside the stall, getting astride the horse and slinging Maeve shield-like over his back, directing the beast out of the stables with a click.  
"I hope you're as fast as your mistress."  
He trotted down the streets, heading for the edge facing the city, until shouts of alarm told him he'd been seen. Ah, that was the risk of using Maeve's horse, but it was a risk he'd bet on. After all, hopefully her horse was a fast one.  
He kicked the stallion into a gallop, tearing down the lane in a cloud of sand and heading for the outskirts, dodging grasping arms and angry bellows. Then at last he was on the plain, speeding straight towards the gate, which even now was opening to let his army stream out. Ahaha, his win--  
The arrow that pierced his leg didn't hurt as much as being yanked back off the horse. He hit the ground heavily with a cry--which turned suddenly to a scream of pain as he was yanked viciously backwards across the earth. It was a writhing second of incomprehension before he understood; Maeve's servants, on horses, and strong thin ropes laced from their hands to the arrow. He'd had the speed advantage, but they'd caught word too soon, and arrows didn't need to be close.  
He curled around on himself like a snake, trying to jerk the arrow loose from his flesh, but when that proved useless he simply splayed himself out and dug his fingers into the ground and tried very hard not to move. Maeve lay several feet ahead of him, and a hundred yards away were Seth and his men, closing in. Even though Asmodeus heard the sounds of Raphael's army roaring awake behind him, he knew Seth would reach him first.  
Would have, if a white and black blur hadn't broken loose of the line, surging forward faster than their horses, his horses, any other horse alive beneath the sun. Raphael threw himself violently to the side and grabbed Maeve without ever coming off his saddle, turning back towards the camp, and a moment later a huge man with dark hair had grabbed him similarly. Asmodeus snarled, hands going for his knives, but the man's fists hit his head first and everything went dark.

And all he could do was watch.  
Watch as the emperor's men fought uselessly against Raphael's army, as the white and black horses galloped deeper into the army, as Seth commanded his men to turn back and retreat. As the emperor's fate was sealed, and his with him.  
No, no no no no no! Why?!  
He had told him--He had warned him! Why had he gone-- why had any of them even let him go!  
Whatever his plan had been it was a stupid, stupid plan! His heart had leapt when he'd watched the horse riding back towards the city, and it had immediately dropped to the pit of his stomach when he'd fallen.  
He sunk down against the floor, clutching his chest, eyes wide as he breathed fast.  
He was lost, that much he had always known--always felt, but now...now his brother too.  
He stumbled to his feet, still clutching his chest, and ignoring all around him, he marched back towards the castle.

...  
His body hurt. A constant throbbing that he pinpointed to come mainly from his head, ribs and leg. He realized there were voices around him. It sounded distorted at first, but slowly, they began making sense.  
"Don't fucking touch him--shit, my ribs," That was Maeve's voice, followed by Raphael's hiss.  
"Fuck him one last time if you want, but his head is mine!"  
"May I remind you it was MY slave that was traded over for him--"  
"You were supposed to trade him for ALPHONSE!"  
"Yes, well, there was a change of plans, but you should be glad to know he still lives. Our emperor here is so fond of him he gave himself up in his place--I highly doubt he'd have killed him, even if the boy did try to run."  
"Or he just came out himself because he's killed him and saw a chance to trick you--which he did!"  
He could hear the warlord pacing angrily around the room. Maeve scoffed.  
"I heard him myself, crying, begging the emperor to let him come to you, that he was ready to be taken... he sounded very cute, I'm very sad I didn't get to meet him."  
While they spoke, he tried to assess his situation. He was thrown on the floor, back inside Maeve's ship, judging by the wood beneath him. He had been muzzled, hands drawn behind his back once more, ankles bound together. This time by cold steel instead of rope.  
Asmodeus killed the whimper in his throat before he gave voice to it. He had failed, and now? Maeve seemed inclined to keep him alive, but that might be worse than death. The chances of escaping again were near inexistent, and the chances of being rescued...  
In his heart, when he had seen Maeve's band arrive up the river, he had no longer felt assured of their victory. Fighting off a starving army from behind walls was very different from fighting off a well fed and well rested one, especially one as hard honed as Raphael's. His plot to get Maeve had been one of desperation, a prayer that if she were caught, he could threaten or bribe her people into leaving Raphael to starve.  
That dream was dead. Seth alone remained to lead the army, and while Asmodeus did believe his skills in the art far exceeded his own, even a win would not assure his freedom. But his nephews would be safe... Alphonse would be safe...  
He prayed for their victory and remained still on the floor, eyes closed. Best to rest now, while he could. No point in fighting when it would do nothing but attract her attention. Even without the chains, even without the dog's muzzle, he wouldn't be going anywhere on that leg.  
Raphael, meanwhile, had continued to snarl the whole time. Maeve had told him her plan--had promised him Alphonse would be had if he could--then ordered him to stay away while she made the actual deal, so he wouldn't "mess things up." And then SHE had gone and fucked things up!  
"You WOULD have seen him if you had fucking gotten him! If you really heard him why didn't you trade for him?! This old bastard wasn't going anywhere, but without him around someone else could already have taken Alphonse--hurt him, killed him--"  
Maeve let out a bored sigh, rolling her eyes.  
"BECAUSE as pretty as he might be, Asmodeus was too cute offering himself up instead, I couldn't pass the chance~" she squealed--then winced as that jolted her side.  
Raphael let out a murderous growl at her words, looking ready to murder both her and the emperor on the spot. She waved him off dismissively.  
"Calm down love. NO ONE is going to murder the emperor's concubine while he still lives, and with Asmodeus here, Seth is in charge on the other side. He will make sure the little thing is safe and sound... Besides, think of the bigger picture. If you had the boy, the emperor would still be in there, safe and sound, with enough supplies to last a year or two, while I'm forced to play housewife for you and fetch you dinner. Not very profitable at all."  
She said calmly, looking down at the emperor's still body and grinning.  
She threw her foot over the edge of the bed, began gently grinding it against the man's crotch.  
"This way I have an emperor to fuck, and his army is a few negotiations away from crumbling beneath the weight of their fear and throwing their doors open at us. Minimum effort, maximum reward. It's really a good thing you never went into the sales business love."  
Raphael only growled again in answer. What a stubborn dog! But Asmodeus made a far sweeter sound, a little noise of unwanted pleasure that became one of pain as his arching back hurt his injured side. Raphael's eyes snapped to him, and Maeve tensed, slowly shifting to get a better hold of her sword--relaxing again when Raphael chose to ignore rather than murder, talking in a flat voice.  
"We should strike tonight, while they're thrown off and afraid."  
She sighed again.  
"Do I look in shape to strike down an empire?"  
She sat up, one hand holding her side while the other still held her sword.  
"You are free to strike whenever you want, but my people are staying in the ships, and if you lose you will be on your own... I will miss Ezekiel, but the emperor and his upcoming child will make up for the loss," she said, sounding mournful for a moment.  
"Or, OR, you could let the news of the emperor's capture spread through the city tonight, and tomorrow we parade him naked and bleeding before it, offer their people more mercy than the emperor ever gave them if they agree to serve. They get to keep their lives and their belongings, for the price of a cruel ruler... or so we'll tell them anyways... your choice."  
Raphael growled again but offered no further commentary. Damn this fucking bitch! He was starting to wish he hadn't asked her along at all. And damn the fucking, filthy emperor too--it was all HIS fault they were there at all, after all.  
Raphael's eyes snapped again to Asmodeus, again Maeve grabbed her sword, but the man only hissed rather than struck.  
"You will pay for taking him from me. You and your kin will suffer at her hands forever, and the boy will still be mine. You haven't saved him. Why did you think you could? You couldn't even save your wife."  
Asmodeus roared and, despite chains and muzzle, lunged forward at Raphael as best he could; the man kicked him harshly in the ribs in return, hardly caring what Maeve had to say about it.  
"Fuck--hey hey HEY!" She snapped, getting to her feet despite her pain and waving her sword at him. The warlord had no choice but to step back, and Maeve got defensively between the two of them, glaring.  
"You wanted him bleeding, I'm helping him get there," Raphael spat.  
"That's enough of that, now get out and don't you dare get back in my room unless you're here to beg for the pleasure of eating me out on your knees... also if you're not going to strike tonight, be a dear and tell Lucy to come over," She said, unable to contain a grin at the end.  
"Fuck you," Raphael hissed, stalking out the door. Asmodeus watched him go, breathing hard and eyes still alive with rage, and then he slumped shuddering back to the floor and lay still again.  
It wasn't much longer before the door slammed open, Lucian strutting in, licking his fingers. He threw himself heavily on the bed and wiggled his eyebrows.  
"You called, my queen?"  
Maeve was crouched beside the emperor, gently stroking his hair as she made sure Raphael hadn't seriously injured him.  
She smiled softly, stroking the man's hair and looking deep into his eyes as she spoke.  
"Have you ever fucked an emperor?"  
Lucian blinked, sitting up. Then his eyes narrowed as a grin spread slow and sure across his face.  
"Fucked the Desert King, but never an emperor, my lady."  
Asmodeus' eyes, meanwhile, dilated in slow horror.  
The same satisfied grin spread across Maeve's face as she watched the emperor's face fill with horror.  
"And you won't be, at least not tonight. You've got your desert king to thank for that," She said, sighing sadly and standing up.  
"The bastard did a number on him, and I don't think he can take both that and your dick... the poor thing is so old... and I am too tired and hurt to fuck him myself, but look at you."  
She turned to him, grinning again.  
"Acting like a gentleman, if only your king was more like you~" She purred, climbing onto her bed, crawling atop him and straddling his waist.  
"Honestly I prefer scoundrels in bed, but considering everything, I could use a gentleman tonight~" She moved forward, pressing her lips to his while her hand ran down the front of his pants.  
The man happily returned her kiss, groaning as her hand explored his shape. Honestly he'd already been starting to get hard at the thought of fucking the old man, and her touch was the final push. Soon his cock was hot and heavy, a thick outline beneath the fabric of his pants, pressed up eagerly into her touch. Their lips parted then, a momentary respite, and in that pause Lucian grinned wider and wider. He looked like a wolf about to devour a lamb.  
"Oh, trust me, babe, I can be a scoundrel too. But you got so roughed up by that bad, naughty emperor, I guess I'll need to be gentle, huh?"  
Asmodeus had more or less allowed himself to go limp in relief when Maeve had promised to spare him for the night, but he stiffened again as Lucian spoke in a lazy drawl.  
"Although, y'know, considering it WAS his fault maybe you should let me fuck him. I promise I won't break him any worse than he already is~"  
Maeve outright laughed at his words, rolling off of him and onto the bed, laying on her back.  
"Not hurt him any worse? Please Lucian, I have SEEN what you do to virgins. The only way I would let you fuck him tonight is if you're willing to spend a whole hour prepping him up to fuck him very gently on my bed while I hold a knife to your neck..." She purred, turning to look at him, actually waiting for an answer despite her excessive demands.  
Lucian let out a dark and hungry chuckle.  
"Fucking someone with a knife to my neck? Sounds kinky, babe. I'm game, but what do you say we fuck each other first, whet the appetite, hm?"  
With these words he crept in over her, pressing his face down in between her breasts, purring as a single hand caressed the shape of her hips. His efforts were interrupted by a small, miserable sound.  
"Please, no."  
Asmodeus had thought the words, but he hasn't meant to say them. In shame and panic he wriggled as best he could to press his back up against the frame of the bed, a useless effort performed out of instinct rather than thought.  
"Awww! What a cute old thing you are, playing shy when we all know you've had your fair share of dicks yourself! This whole war is because you were too much of a hungry little slut~" She purred even as she stroked Lucian's hair, his face still nestled against her chest.  
"But as adorable as you might be, your naughtiness DOES deserve some punishment...but don’t worry love, I'll make sure he's gentle. You might even enjoy it~"  
With that said, she turned her attention back towards Lucian, leaning forward and briefly kissing him again.  
"As for you...perhaps you can be a little bit of a scoundrel, I'm sure you'll more than make up for a little pain, right love?" She raised her leg then, thigh grinding hard between his legs.  
"Oh, HELL yes," he purred, his hands running wild over her with greed. At last he settled on pushing up her shirt--and pushing his head in to follow, suckling eagerly at her breast, starting at the side but slowly, surely, sensually working towards the peak, all while his other hand wormed its way into her pants and towards warmth and wet.  
Asmodeus, meanwhile, flattened himself against the floor and began to worm forward with the utmost slowness. There had to be a knife within reach somewhere, something, anything! If he could just get one he could stab the bastard by surprise--not enough to save him from bondage, no, but if he could kill the beast it would be one step better.  
Maeve arched in response to his touches, moaning out in a mix of pain and pleasure as the movement jolted her wounds. She pressed her hips more firmly against those warm, coarse fingers even as she moved to unbutton her shirt, exposing her breasts and giving Lucian better access to them.  
She did not notice Asmodeus scuffling around on the floor--and even if she did, she wouldn't have done anything to stop him. There was literally nothing the old man could do to get away from her now, and as such, he could struggle and whine all he wanted, but he was all hers.  
Despite the nasty bruise on her side, the pirate seemed to be enjoying herself quite well, moaning liberally and grinning, stroking Lucian's hair. She arched and cried out more sharply when two of his fingers entered her. Her thighs closed more tightly around his hand then, not to stop him, but to greedily keep him all to herself.  
"Yessss!"  
But soon enough, even after the man had pushed a third finger inside her, it was not enough. One of her hands dropped down to her pants, hastily unbuttoning it and trying to tug them off.  
"Hurry! I haven't been fucked all day long..."  
"How do you manage to keep making my cock harder?" Lucian asked, grinning, even as he obligingly helped her loose her pants--and then tugged down his own, loosing a massive cock well lined with veins. Maeve let out a dreamy sigh at the sight, and a moment later the two were moving into position, Maeve straddling his hips as Lucian took hold of her own--and then with a prolonged moan of pleasure from each of them they joined, Lucian bucking his shaft firmly into her insides.  
Asmodeus, meanwhile, had not found any discarded knives--the sluts hadn't even bothered to fully undress, no concealed weapons conviently dropped within reach--but he had found another room. Inch by inch he squirmed his way over and in, hissing softly in despair when he saw it was a bathroom rather than a closet. Still, was the whore not a pirate? There had to be something hidden there, surely, in case any visitors got too rowdy. For the meantime, though...  
He eased the door gingerly shut with a foot. Then, looking up, he saw the lock. That would give him time.  
Of course, reaching it...  
He slithered up against the corner of the room, pressing his back to it and gritting his teeth. If he could just use his good leg...  
Slowly, carefully, he extended, keeping his injured leg docilely limp alongside the other. Good, good! He rose unsteadily to his knees--and lost his balance, his weight coming down hard on the bad leg. A sharp bark of pain--another as he landed on his hurt side--curling up instinctively as his body shook with pain.  
Maeve's eyes strayed momentarily towards the sound of his voice before they settled back on Lucian, the man bouncing her vigorously up and down upon his lap.  
What a stubborn man, why couldn't he just stay still for one second? No matter, she was not going to let him ruin her happiness once more!  
The man was shackled up well enough that there was nothing he could do to escape. If he'd hurt himself trying to pretend he could escape, then he would have to wait until she was done.  
It wasn't until Lucian pulled her harshly down upon his cock, his warmth stroking deep inside her, that she finally deigned to pay attention to him.  
The last tremors of their climax slowly subsided, his seed warm and thick inside her. She fell on her side with a satisfied sigh--yelping again as that hurt her wound, and laughing at her own carelessness.  
She pulled herself closer to Lucian, kissing him greedily and licking her lips when she pulled back, gently stroking his chest.  
"Be a dear and bring him over, yes?"  
Lucian laughed and pulled off a salute.  
"Of course, milady."  
He got to his feet, stretching slowly, cock still poking up stiffly out of dark hair, and then he kicked off his pants entirely and headed to the bathroom. A frightened snarl, Lucian laughing, and a moment later the man was strutting back over, holding a writhing Asmodeus carefully under his shoulders and knees. No sooner had he set the man beside Maeve on the bed then he tried to throw himself off it, stopped only by Lucian grabbing him by the hair and forcing his head down against the bedding.  
"Skinny old bastard, isn't he? I hope he's tight." Lucian lifted a hand to his lips, began sucking on his fingers even while he grinned.  
Maeve laughed.  
"He is, but you better loosen him up if you want to fuck him."  
Her eyes strayed down then, fixed on the emperor's laying calmly beside him on the bed. She reached out with slim fingers, brushing his hair out of his face with loving gentleness and tucking it behind his ear.  
"Come on love, you'll only make this worse on yourself if you keep struggling...I really do want you to enjoy it, then maybe I could have some fun with you as well~"  
"I'll give you A-Alphonse."  
Desperate, choking, his eyes wide even when he couldn't see the man behind him. Lucian snickered and started to tug down his pants, the emperor's squawks growing louder.  
"I'll give you him and a dozen jewels, any whore you want in the city, and gold--and I'll pleasure you, just get him off, let me go and go back to the sea!"  
Lucian leaned in down close over him, breathing hard, a touch of saliva dripping from his lips.  
"Sounds a lot like lying to me, sweetheart."  
He flexed his fingers, smirked, and a moment later Asmodeus convulsed again as a finger was slid into him. He ground his head hard against the bed, tried uselessly to shove the tight muzzle free, tried to twist around when that failed, only for Lucian to again hold his head firmly still.  
And Maeve watched every second of it entirely mesmerized by the sight. Her blue eyes were wide open and bright, watching him squirm and struggle and cry out helplessly. She licked her lips.  
"Oh love, what I would give to see you betray your cute little lover; the look in his eyes as you call your men and they bring him forward to the door, as he's shoved straight into his worst nightmare because you were too much of a coward… I would give many things, but I would never give you away, and there is nothing else you can offer me," She said, her voice soft and quiet.  
She reached out, stroking his cheek with her thumb and smiling.  
"You have nothing to give Asmodeus. You're not an emperor anymore, you're just an old, tired slut. And tomorrow I'll drag you naked and bleeding and ashamed before the walls of your city, offer your people mercy and freedom from your reign, and everything you've ever had will be mine."  
She leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, then turned to look at Lucian, at his finger going in and out of the emperor.  
"Put another one in~" She purred, her on hand moving between her legs, the pirate biting her lip as she watched.  
Lucian complied all too eagerly, inserting a second digit with a wet slick. Asmodeus arched ever so slightly in answer before flattering out against the bedsheets.  
"Damn, he is sooo tight babe! Wanna feel?"  
Asmodeus thrashed his head around then, but not towards Lucian. His eyes bore into Maeve's and he snarled like a serpent from the depths of hell. Maeve felt a lovely erotic chill creep up her spine.  
"I will kill you. I will kill you if it takes a thousand years, if it costs my life, if it costs the life of every fucking soul upon the sands--"  
Lucian moaned.  
"Oh, dragons below, he's making me so hard."  
Asmodeus jerked and broke his hissing with an unhappy cry as Lucian added a third finger far too soon. The man's other hand slipped to massage his own dick as he purred.  
"I wanna kiss you, but that muzzle looks so nice on your face."  
"Lucian! Don't hurt my poor baby! It's his first time remember? I'm even letting you fuck him before me…. hold on," She twisted around, fished momentarily on one of the drawers of her nightstand, then turned back with a vial, holding it before Asmodeusu' face.  
"Here love, this should help—I'm getting impatient too~"  
Asmodeus' body momentarily relaxed as Lucian's fingers left his body, but as the man took the vial, he tensed again.  
There was a momentary pause, and then Lucian's fingers were within him again.  
All three of them, slick and warm and slowly stroking their way deep inside him. Maeve watched and instructed the other on how to go on for several more minutes, until she took herself to release on her own fingers. Then, still shivering, her hand pushed its way beneath him, feeling up his crotch. Asmodeus buried his face against the bed as she found his cock already half hardened.  
Maeve grinned, her fingers wrapping around him, beginning to stroke him in time with Lucian's fingers, until he'd gone fully hard in her hold.  
She reached for the vial again, wetting her own fingers, and reaching out to stroke Lucian's cock instead, hastily and liberally sickening his cock with the substance. With that, she rolled onto her back, spread her legs.  
"Put him in~"  
Lucian laughed and obliged, easily lifting up the emperor and settling his body up on hers. He tried to smash his head violently against her own, but she took a firm grip on his hair and held him away.  
The pirate let out a happy little purr as Lucian slid the emperor's cock inside her, then moved into position, his own cock nuzzling at the older man's entrance, hands gripping his hips to hold him still—he paused then, as a sharp knife came to rest against his neck. Maeve winked.  
"Remember love, be very, very gentle~"  
Lucian seemed to become more aroused than anything at the feel of the blade, grinning stupidly again and putting before leaning in to kiss her regardless. Asmodeus, however, was determined to be an obnoxious little bitch, jerking his head viciously in Maeve's hold like a horse fighting a harness, determined to crack one of their skulls, shoulders, ANYTHING, even if it broke his own in the process--  
"Whoa pooky! Hey Maeve, I have an idea, mind if I get off for a sec?"  
Well, who was Maeve to say no? She withdrew her knife, instead wrapping her legs around Asmodues' writhing body and riding his cock as he fought, moaning in glee.  
A moment later Lucian was back, and then suddenly he'd tightened a belt around Asmodeus' throat, pulling his head back to stop his efforts to head butt Maeve. The emperor let out a choked noise of outrage, but that was all he could do, the noose restricting his breathing but not stopping it entirely.  
"You like, babe, or should I stop?"  
"Nghhhhh—he might die though!—Quick, in that drawer!" She said, sounding a bit desperate, even though the only one currently not being serviced was Lucian. The man did as instructed, found a collar and a leash in the drawer she had pointed to. Something to restrict his movement without risk of choking him. She was always well stocked.  
Another brief struggle that did nothing but bring Maeve pleasure. Asmodeus was as helpless in the larger man's arms as Alphonse had been in his, a strong arm thrown around his chest holding him easily still as the belt was replaced with a collar and a leash was swiftly attached to it. Then Asmodeus again felt his head held back, Lucian's thick cock pressed to him, one hand sliding up his shirt.  
"Hehe. Feel how fast his old heart's going! Don't have a heart attack now, emperor, Maeve won't like that at all."  
Asmodeus let out a soft cry of despair, and Maeve's purring grew all the louder. Lucian fondled the man's nipples for a moment before pressing his cock fully to his softness, beginning to ease in. Another, more desperate whimper, Asmodeus starting to struggle for reasons that had nothing to do with stubborn pride, Lucian chuckling.  
"Don't tense up, darling, Maeve'll kill me if you do."  
Maeve watched, knife to his neck, as Lucian's cock slowly disappeared inside the emperor, her other arm wrapped around the older man as she held on to him and reassuringly stroked his back.  
She nuzzled his face as Lucian slowly began grinding up his hips against the emperor.  
"See love? It's not so bad, I told you I'd keep you safe. It won't even ache in a moment, shh," She cooed softly, lovingly kissing whatever parts of his face were not covered by a muzzle.  
Lucian's movements pushed him deep inside the emperor, and with that they also pushed the emperor deep inside her, his cock still hard despite all his struggles and protests. She closed her eyes and let out a moan against his ear, grinding her hips up against him.  
"I have waited for this for so long…"  
The smallest of whimpers, and he went limp atop her, head hung, held up only by the cruel collar and their movements. Lucian relented, more so he wouldn't be distracted then out of mercy, loosening his hold on the leash and thus allowing Asmodeus to hide his face against the bed. What a nice ass! Lucian braced himself with strong arms and thrust deep, groaning, white strings of semen extending from his cock to the man's ass every time he withdrew.  
This was it. This was the end. He would live the rest of his life as a slave to the woman he hated, but that was not what twisted his innards like serpents inside him. The city would fall. His nephews and his lover would join him in hell.  
He dug his head further into the blankets, shuddering, tears growing at the edges of closed eyes as he surrendered to despair and pleasure.  
Raphael had been right all along. How foolish of him to believe he could save anyone, even himself, when he had been shown so many times that he could not.  
And like a gentle lover, Maeve kissed his tears away.  
Lucian continued with that slow yet deep tempo, Maeve's knife making sure he kept it. And despite his misery, his body kept hard, shivers traveling up and down his body both at the sweet warmth of Maeve's body wrapped around him and the man's firm heat stroking deep inside him. In time, his own sad little moans rose to accompany their own as they fucked, a mockery of lovemaking in a tempo far slower than both of his rapists were used to taking.  
When Maeve heard his cries, felt him still hard inside him, she allowed for Lucian to fasten the pace—only a little more, only as long as it didn't hurt him, and their cries rose together yet again.  
He was the first to release, his back arching, the emperor burying his face firmly against the bed and croaking. Lucian grunted and pressed more firmly against him as his ass tightened around his cock as a result to his climax—finally driving the pirate to her own release.  
When it was done, they laid against one another. Maeve stroked his hair and kissed his forehead, nuzzled him gently.  
"I'm so proud of you pet, that went great, it barely even hurt at all and it was your first time and everything!" She purred, withdrawing her knife from Lucian's neck and letting it drop against the bed—out of Asmodeusu reach, as she grabbed at Lucian's hair and pulled him close for a passionate kiss.  
"Thanks for that love, you sure know how to make a girl happy~"  
"Any time, babe. Actually, maybe tomorrow's a good time, hmm?" Lucian teased, grinning at her. Asmodeus raised his head slowly as the two kissed around him, eyes hazed with exhaustion and unhappiness--and then slammed his head hard into theirs just as they kissed anew, skulls cracking together. Lucian snarled, Maeve made a noise of sharp irritation, and poor Asmodeus groaned as it all made the pain in his head worse--and then Lucian yanked him sharply up by the collar, hissing.  
"Ungrateful little--"  
Asmodeus spat in his open mouth before Lucian could finish. The man shrieked, smacking his head down against the bed before turning to Maeve, pleading.  
"Oh can't I PLEASE fuck him hard?"  
Maeve glared at the emperor, clutching at her head.  
"You know what? I think our emperor is loose enough for a little bit of rough play," She purred. Her hands reached out, grabbing the man's face and forcing him to look at her.  
"So stubborn Asmodeus, while I'm trying to be nice to you. Just remember, when we drag you out onto the street with cum and blood on your thighs, that you brought this upon yourself." She hissed—shoving a hand against his muzzle and mouth when he tried to spit at her too and laughing.  
She leaned forward, licking his face.  
"Come on pet, don't be like that. Perhaps your nephew could teach you manners? He is such a good boy~"  
Asmodeus screamed, although the sound was muffled by her hand.  
"You fucking bi--"  
Then he screamed for a whole different reason, his whole body snapping like lightning had hit him, Lucian slamming in hard and jerking his collar back at the same time. Maeve felt the emperor's shaft go promptly soft within her, and a moment later he wasn't paying attention to her at all, trying uselessly to twist around and fight his attacker. It was as useless as all the other times. Lucian simply grinned and slammed in again, drawing another scream, the man arching brokenly.  
"Heh, guess you're a little pussy in the end after all, huh? At least you're a tight one."  
Maeve sighed sadly as she lay beneath the two. With the emperor now soft inside her, half the fun was gone…but still, his body grinding against hers felt so good, and his screams were so sweet…  
Her hand slipped between their bodies, and she contented herself with stroking at her own pleasure to the sight of Asmodeus being fucked.  
"It's okay love, it'll be over soon," She cooed sweetly against him, although her voice drowned beneath his screams.  
It was over soon, but not for the reason she'd predicted. Asmodeus let out an even shrilled scream than those before and then quite abruptly went limp, head hanging brokenly from his collar. Lucian paused for a second, touching the man's throat, grunted.  
"Unconscious already? What a wimp."  
With a few more hard bucks he came, pulling back before he'd quite finished to spray his seed liberally over the man's ass and thighs, then looking down most satisfied at his work. Grabbing the emperor by the hair he pulled his head up, giving Maeve a nice view of his face, grinning.  
"Looks pretty enough for a parade, doesn't he?"  
Maeve didn't answer him immediately, instead reached out to touch his neck herself, frowning for a moment, then sighing and collapsing back down against the bed.  
"By the dragons below, above and whatever else you swear by! He gives me so much trouble… but he does look so cute!" She sighed again, reaching out to stroke the unconscious man's face and smiling softly.  
"But yes, he does look like a pretty slut….maybe if you'd cummed all over his face though he'd look even better."  
She sighed again, then pushed his limp body off of hers, moving closer and pressing against his back as he nuzzled at the back of his neck.  
"Maybe tomorrow…for now I have bruises to heal," She purred, keeping the emperor's backside covered with her body in case Lucian tried to have some more fun with him while she rested.

Everything hurt so much.  
Why? His head throbbed, his aides throbbed, his leg throbbed, his--it felt like a slow burning all over him. He twitched to his side, breathing hard, trying to escape the pain, but it followed.  
With considerable effort he pulled his eyes open, trying to understand--and doing so all too well as he saw Lucian's face leering over him.  
"Morning, cupcake! Feel like spitting again?"  
No, no he did not. Asmodeus closed his eyes again and lay still, submissive, the fight momentarily choked out of him. What a little bitch he had become, and so quickly. But even pride and shame weren't enough to convince his tortured body to put up a resistance at that moment, and so he simply lay limp as Lucian patted his hair and laughed.  
"It's almost time for the parade, and you're the star of the show! Aren't you a lucky one?"  
"Don't make him nervous love, today is his big day, where he watches the kingdom his family built crumble down because of him~" Maeve's voice, purring excitedly as she drew on her coat. Her wounds were all hidden, her clothes clean and impeccable, her posture straight and proud with the sureness of a winner. She was ready for this parade.  
The woman moved forward, crouched by his leg.  
"Hm, I wanted to have you walk naked before the walls, but it doesn't seem like you'll be able to... I'll guess we'll just have to drag you around instead."  
Even as she said those words, her hands reached out. The emperor winced but did not struggle as the pirate carefully cleaned and bandaged his wound anew. She stood up then, leaning forward to ruffle his hair.  
"It's alright dear, just hold on a little longer and we'll soon be a big, happy family, yes?" She didn't wait for an answer, straightening up and addressing Lucian.  
"Lucian dear, carry him out for me?" The man gave her a little bow, grinning before he moved forward, threw the emperor over his shoulder and the two of them walked out.

The men on the wall could do nothing but watch as the warlord's army slowly advanced towards them. They came to a pause outside the archer's range once again, and then four horses stepped forward, away from the mass of horses.  
There was Raphael himself, glaring forward, Lucian at his side, grinning, then another horse beside him, with someone thrown over it's back, and finally Maeve beside him.  
Lucian lazily kicked at the one beside him. Asmodeus fell heavily against the floor with a cry of pain, naked and bound.  
Maeve dismiunted her horse, her fingers curling on his hair and pulling him up onto his knees.  
"People of Amakiz! No more will you have to follow the orders of your cruel tyrant! We have struck him down for you. Are you still willing to risk your life for the sake of a whore? Or will you join the glorious army that rescued you?"  
Her voice rose clear and crisp, cutting through the desert and reaching the soldiers, the voice of an experimented gambler and a leader.  
"Open your door to us today Amakiz, and you may retain your city, your slaves, your lives. All we ask is that you continue to honor your treaty with the desert king, that you give is the royal family that for so long has enslaved you, and turn your swords on any traitor that would still support this scum!"  
For a moment there was only silence--and then the sound of a minor scuffle. Raphael's eyes immediately followed that familiar glint of gold. There on the wall, standing right on the edge and threatening the soldiers with jumping if they grabbed him, there was his Alphonse.  
The boy turned towards them. His eyes filled with fear as he saw him, and he trembled where he stood. Raphael's own chest tightened at the thought of the boy trembling himself right off the edge.  
Alphonse's eyes strayed towards the emperor then, and tears rose to them.  
"P-please stop! Please! I-It's me you w-want--I'll go, you c-can have me until the end of my days...b-but please, spare the city...spare the emperor...I will g-go, if you let him go as w-well..."  
"Deal," Raphael barked, and in return Maeve punched him, frowning.  
"NOW who's the idiot?"  
The warlord turned towards her, snarling softly.  
"If he jumps--!"  
"Then you'll hunt down his family for the rest of your days and make their lives such hell that his soul can never rest, and so on and so forth. Now be quiet~"  
Maeve looked up at the wall, grinning, tilting Asmodeus' head further back so he could get a good view of his little lover. It was so cute how the two were trying to save each other! She'd have to ask Raphael if she could make them fuck~  
"Now, love, I have no intentions of letting him go, and besides, how would all of Raphael's poor men get food if the mean nasty emperor was in control again? No, no, I think it makes much more sense for you to just let us in--"  
Asmodeus screamed out suddenly beside her.  
"No! They'll kill you all--"  
Maeve kicked the back of his head, slamming his face into the sand and keeping it there with a foot. The soldiers on the walls rippled like a wave, uncertain, balanced on the edge of a blade. And then Alphonse heard a familiar voice behind him, soft but firm.  
"Step aside, please, Alphonse, I have something to say."  
Alphonse turned, seeing the emperor's general standing behind him. He turned again towards Raphael, but the red haired woman seemed to have quelled his desire to trade him. With a soft sob, he stepped back and off the edge, back onto the scaffold--where he yelped as a soldier pulled him securely back.  
Maeve scoffed as she saw the general step forward.  
"Morning Seth! Are you here to offer your surrender? Or will you starve your soldiers to death for the sale of a few ungrateful nobles?"  
Seth gave her only the briefest and most contemptuous of glances before turning his back to her, addressing the sea of soldiers that covered the walls and all the fields before them.  
"My brothers, hear me! I know the fear that lays within your hearts. Yet there is no hope in their promise of surrender. Have we not seen how the desert king treats his allies, with attempted assassinations in the night? Have we not seen how the desert king treats his slaves, beating near to death those with no power to resist him? And do we believe the pirates of the sea have come so far for no more price than a few nobles? They lie!"  
Another murmur rippled through the crowd, like wind touched waves.  
"If we allow them within our walls, they will enslave us all, whether in bed or field, until we break. There will be no peace, no mercy. They have shown us many times before that they are incapable of such things."  
The general paused, turned to look at Asmodeus for a moment before continuing.  
"I know that at times our emperor has been cruel. If any of you still doubt my words, believe that life would be kinder under the desert king, then let me say this. Which of the two was it, emperor or king, that offered his life to protect a slave? Which of the two was it, emperor or king, who freed a slave to become a general? Our emperor once made this city great, and I believe that greatness still dwells inside him. I believe we can make Amakiz great again--but only if we stand, and do not falter!"  
His voice raised stronger still, proud and steady, a lion's roar.  
"My brothers! I know the war we prepare to face is not what we had hoped for. Yet I still believe in our victory. We have walls, and numbers, and above all else we have a cause to fight for. Brothers! Lift your swords and tell the demons of the desert that they shall not take us today, or any day to come!"  
The general drew his sword and lifted the shining blade to the sun. A moment of quiet. And then the roar of seven thousand soldiers giving voice tore the air, ruffling them all like a gale, blades shining in the sun.  
Maeve sighed.  
What a beautiful bastard. It had been very smart of him to make his men scream, keeping her from being heard at all if she tried to argue back. She would very much enjoy fucking him--and letting Lucian fuck him too, wether he did so in a few days, or a year from now, when the emperor's starved men were too weak to fight back.  
She removed her foot from the emperor's head, pulled him upright by his hair again, carefully brushing away the sand from his face. She leaned in, kissing his hair briefly before whispering.  
"You should be proud of your dog, you've trained him well. He even made you sound kind" With that she pulled back, turning towards Raphael.  
"Are you still up for storming the city? Because I might have another idea."  
"I'm listening," Raphael said softly.  
Maeve grinned.  
"Very well, but not here."  
The emperor was thrown back over the horse, the army retreating back towards their camp. Seth's men cheered louder, beating swords over shields and clamoring the enemy's retreat.  
The day passed slowly, with the soldiers tensed, waiting for the enemy to try and return, make another bargain or threat, but no such thing happened. Raphael's army remained at their camp, most of them shielded under the sun in their tents while others guarded the camp, making sure the city if Amakiz did not try anything.  
And then the day was gone, night creeping up across the sky. Raphael's people lighted up torches to illuminate their own camp, and the soldiers in Asmodeus' wall relaxed.  
Seth on the other hand remained tensed, glaring out beyond the wall, wondering what they'd do next.  
They would wait, he supposed. If so they would most likely lose the war--in a year or two. If not, well there was no way that Raphael's army could breach the walls. Either the warlord waited, or they lost the war. There was little they could do but wait.  
He glared at the man's camp for a moment longer, then turned to leave.  
He paused, leaning forward, peering more carefully at Raphael's camp, the lights flickering. He could see a few men moving standing here and there, unmoving....  
Nothing seemed to stir in that camp. His eyes widened, then scanned the darkness, trying to find the dimmest glummer of metal, ears strained to catch the smallest sound beyond the wall. When he did hear something, it came from within the walls.  
A single fiery arrow, cutting its way swiftly up into the sky, behind him, all the way on the other side of the city.  
He cursed. Running hastily towards his horse.  
"Archers, remain on your stations! The others--with me to the south door!"  
It had not been easy, or pleasant, specially because she'd had to leave the safety of her ship and go into the front lines herself.  
Either way, the war was won. But if they stayed that meant an entire year of leaving behind the slaver trade to service Raphael's army. She did not look forward to that.  
But if they went in, then they could have the city to themselves in a day.  
Asmodeus had built walls around his city, and they were far too firm for them to pull them down, specially without any weapons to do so. But there was something he couldn't put a wall around.  
The river that crossed the city and fed it fresh water could not be contained. Any attempt to do so would flood the city until its walls collapsed around it. As such, it flowed beneath the walls, deep beneath them, but rose up again beside the streets.  
For Raphael's men, this meant nothing. They could not swim, and even if they simply let the current take them inside and clung clumsily to the edges, she supposed there would be soldiers waiting there to take them.  
But she was not one of Raphael's men, and neither were the women who worked for her.  
They had spent their life within the sea, the water a second nature, more comfortable against their skin than air itself. They swam easily pressed to the bottom of the river just as the sun began setting against the horizon, wearing long, dark robes that masked their bodies with the rocky bottom.  
There were archers at the entrance, but it did not matter. They swam far beyond it, aided like sirens by the current, surfacing beyond the eyes of the archers, hidden behind the shade of a boat.  
The trickiest part came from stealing new clothes unseen, but she managed. Pirates were excellent thieves after all. After that she relaxed, her bright red hair masked and tinted a dark black by ointments. She and the others were nothing more than another group of citizens in Amakiz.  
Then came the time to wait, the group slowly spreading throughout the city, mixing in--convincing a few guards to celebrate their victory over the mutt's army with plenty of beer and beautiful women.  
She watched as that single fiery arrow pierced the sky, signaling to Raphael and his men that the door had been opened, and then she watched as Seth took his cavalry there, watched them all go with a grin on her face. Ah, poor foolish general. It was a shame that it had come to this. In the end, the beautiful little thing might even die in battle. It would have been much better if he had simply given himself up. But it was this or waiting, and with Asmodeus already in her grasp, he was not worth the wait.  
She found an archer--a coward, retreating and whimpering to hide away before the war reached him. Her blade sliced his throat as he passed by her. She took his bow, lit an arrow on fire, and shot it at the ropes holding the northern door together, and then another one into the sky.

Gods, it was already over. Seth knew it as soon as he saw the arrow. How had it been done? He'd had guards bristling on every inch of the gate. Drunks, whores, cowards, traitors? It didn't matter. He had failed, and they would all pay the price.  
He unsheathed his sword as they stampeded forward, and surging in from the open western gate he saw the enemy, Raphael at their head, flanked by a smirking Maeve and grinning Lucian. He charged straight towards them, roaring, and his men came screaming along behind to meet their deaths.

The mood within the castle had been dismal since the pirate's arrival and the emperor's fall. Thomas' servants had continued to bristle and pump themselves up for war, but he had known better. He simply kept watch at the windows of the library, constant, Luke at his side and the golden twins the world had gone to hell for curled up behind him, day in and day out. It was the same that night, and he was the first to see the gates open. The fear took him so strongly that for a moment he couldn't move, and then the library doors slammed open, a servant running in, gasping.  
"The walls have been breached--we have to go, we have to go n-now!"  
"Everyone, MOVE!" Thomas barked, finding his voice, surging to his feet and dragging Luke along behind him as he ran towards the door.  
Alex stood first--halting as Alphonse grabbed at his hand, held him back. He turned.  
"Alphonse we have to go!--"  
"...Whatever happens...don't let go of my hand, please..."  
He was quiet for a second, then nodded stiffly. Alphonse rose to his feet then, pulling him close in a tight embrace that lasted all too little and all too long at the same time.  
When he let go, Alex tightened his fingers around his brother's hand, and both of them ran after the others, snatching the bows and quivers they had left by the door for just this occasion and following the servant side by side.  
They had walked to the stables many times in the previous days, reviewing the path, and they crossed it now in record time. There everything was waiting as promised--several dozen of the emperor's finest horses, no heavy wagon to slow them, supplies and light tents tied to their flanks. There were soldiers, too, men whose faces were grim with determination, and also--  
"Let GO of me! I want my mistress! As your new emperor I COMMAND you--"  
"Oh, shut up!"  
Ezekiel and--his twin, who apparently bore the same name, being carried swiftly forward in the thick arms of the former's servants. The slave-Ezekiel was crying and struggling, but his sibling ignored him, his servants hopping astride horses.  
Thomas directed his people atop their own horses, jumping astride one himself and pulling Luke up with him, turning to the soldier who seemed to be in charge.  
The man nodded curtly, turning his horse.  
"There's a small secret gate in the northern wall. We ride there. Follow closely!"  
He surged forward, then, and the whole convoy surged forward with him, running down streets that glowed red with blood and firelight, past soldiers screaming and struggling and dying all around them. Thomas gritted his teeth, clutching Luke tighter to his side.  
They rounded a corner--and the leader reared, horse whickering in alarm. The battle was raging before them, and at the heart of it, just visible, Seth and Raphael were locked blade to blade in combat. The warlord looked positively demonic with rage, but Seth's face was strangely calm, even as the blood and sweat marking it glimmered in the light.  
The captain jerked his horse sharply around, down a quieter side street, and the rest hurried after. But not fast enough. Out of the corner of his eye Raphael saw the gleam of gold worth more than gold.  
He was winning the fight, but not quickly enough. Persistent bastard! Raphael ground his teeth together as his sword caught again on Seth's--and then suddenly Maeve was at his side, laughing, her own sword slicing forward. Seth turned his blade just in time to catch them both, arm shaking with the strain of holding them back--and then a darkness appeared behind him, a third strike, one he could not escape.  
Seth's body convulsed beautifully as Lucian's blade seared across back and shoulder, blade falling from his disabled arm. Raphael didn't trouble himself with him further; he turned his horse after Alphonse and Lucian ran in pursuit, laughing.  
"Remember, don't open your present until AFTER the battle, dear!"  
Everyone's faces were fixed forward, but Luke and Alphonse didn't need their eyes to tell them what their hearts felt. Slow, cold, like ice through the veins came the fear, and they turned their heads, the nightmares of black and white reflecting in their eyes.  
Alex did not look back. He didn't need to. The way his brother was trembling against him told him all he needed to know. He spurred their horse even faster forward, eyes always fixed on the road ahead.  
"I-it's alright Alphonse, it'll be alright, I'll protect you I promise, I won't let anyone hurt you!" His brother cried, but Alphonse heard the way his voice broke, how his own body had began shaking against his as that far away nightmare began quickly catching up with them. With one arm he held on tighter, the other reaching for the knife at his hip and gripping it firmly.  
"A-Alex...Alex I'm s-so sorry, t-this is all my fault...i-if I had l-let you with the goblins y-you would be home already!"  
"I don't want to be home! I want to be with you!" His twin cried, struggling with the tears at his eyes as he kicked at their horse for the hundredth time.  
Alphonse shuddered, his face pressed against his brother's back, taking in his scent one last time.  
"W-whatever happens...p-please know that I love you...a-and I'm sorry..." He croaked. Hand on the hilt of his knife, he was ready to stab, to free his brother from a destiny worse than death, if need be. He knew where to stab. Alex himself had taught him.  
And yet...he didn't.  
Instead, he turned around, facing his nightmare for as long as he could, waiting for the last second, clinging to a hope that died with the city itself.  
Raphael spurred his horse forward, and it ran like white fire. The emperor's horses were swift, but Raphael's horse was their master and sire, and no other creature that walked the earth could outrun him.  
His eyes swore he saw not one Alphonse, but two. Trick of the ill light or of witchcraft, he did not know, but for the moment it did not matter. His arm stretched out, closer and closer--  
He jerked the reigns of his horse sharply up, the stallion rearing as a rain of darts showered down where he would have been a second later. A rising series of screams came up from the rooftops around him, masked faces showing astride grotesque birds, pipes at the ready. There was no time either to question why the goblins were there or why they had chosen to stand against him. With a curse he whipped his horse around, Lucian following, both retreating to find a new way to intercept them.  
The goblins let out a rattling scream that might have been a cheer, and then continued loping along the roof tops after Alex's horse, occasionally spitting poison at enemy soldiers that stumbled too close.  
Alphonse was shaking so much he almost lost the grip on his knife. His blade had been at his brother's chest, ready to strike the moment the warlord tugged him back, and then, just as he was about to end his life--the goblins had shown up, again, to save them from falling into hell once again.  
He had wanted them dead before, all and each one of them, but he thought he could find it in his heart to forgive them now.  
His brother meanwhile did not realize how close he'd come to dying himself, instead wiped at the tears from his face, mimicking the goblin's cry of cheer the way they had taught him how, heart racing in his chest.  
"Alphonse! See?! We're almost there! Just hold on, it'll be fine!"  
The unearthly cries of their guardians seemed to scare off most of the enemy troops; well known were those wails in the desert, and few dared to cross them. So it was that the group continued mostly unhindered, until at last the houses began to give way to field, the wall looming up swiftly before them.  
The goblins' mounts, with nowhere left to run, hopped down from the rooftops and went pacing along after them.  
A sudden commotion, and suddenly, from around the edge of the last buildings, a river of warriors on horseback appeared, cutting between the goblins and Alphonse's group like a dam through water, led on by Lucian at their head. Both sides clamored in confusion; the goblins shot off a flurry of darts and then retreated, their squawking mounts clambering back up the buildings, while Lucian's men milled about in panic, trying to escape the poison.  
The confusion behind didn't matter. All that did was Raphael springing up suddenly out of the rush, to them, strong arms grabbing both twins and pinning them down hard against his side, their arms pinned. Lucian stormed past, fixated on Luke, laughing madly all the while.  
They screamed together, yet the pitch of their voice was so different. Alphonse screamed in utter horror and agony. Trying desperately and uselessly to move his arm, sink the blade against his brother's chest so he could save him from this hell.  
Alex screamed in hate and anger, struggling against the warlord's hold to stab him with his own knife, unaware of his brother's efforts.  
"N-no no no no! P-please no please no! N-not like this--not him!"  
Alex didn't speak, instead he twisted as best as he could to sink his teeth sharply into the warlord's leg, hoping his grip relented with the pain.  
Raphael grimaced, but didn't loose his grip. Rather he slowed his horse to a trot, moving away from the chaos behind them to a quieter part of the field and dismounting.  
"Shhh, Alphonse. It's over."  
He didn't need to be told. The noise in the city was beginning to quiet into an uneasy silence. Maeve had likely declared the general's fall, offered them one last chance to surrender and live, and broken and afraid the soft citizens of the lake had taken it.  
It took a bit of maneuvering, but one by one he disarmed the boys in his arms and bound their wrists and ankles with a strong cord he'd carried in a pouch at his waist. Lying there tied and helpless, Alphonse simply closed his eyes and sobbed, pleas for mercy mingling with low moans of terror. Alex meanwhile cursed and screamed and spit and was utterly ignored.  
Raphael remained quiet, staring back at the city, and a moment later Lucian rode up, chuckling, holding Luke and Thomas much as Raphael had. Mirroring the other he bound them, and mirroring the twins Luke simply wept while Thomas snarled and dragged himself protectively atop the other.  
"Woohoo, I love that pirate! But hey, shouldn't we grab those cute prince twins for her?"  
"It's being done," Raphael said softly, and Lucian turned to see soldiers bearing in on the remnants of the troupe.  
Thomas lifted his head in horror, sobbing, as he saw his servants try to fight back--try to fight their way to them. To him.  
"N-No, no--RUN! Run, goddamn you!"  
He turned his face suddenly towards Raphael, begging, tears streaming down his face.  
"Please, p-please, you already have us, let them go--"  
"Aww, cute! I think I'll fuck you, too--"  
"Lucian, shut up," Raphael growled. Then he turned towards his troops, shouted.  
"Stop!"  
His men did so, pulling away and wheeling around their quarry, casting him uncertain glances. Nalia and the others formed a ring, weapons out, breathing hard. Thomas screamed at them.  
"We are lost, but you are n-not! You can't win, and I won't have you die with us! Go, go, just g-go!"  
"Let them go. We have more important things to attend to."  
More bemused glances from his soldiers, but they parted, beginning to trot towards him instead. Nalia bared her teeth and shook off the tears, preparing to charge after, but Thomas shook his head.  
Nalia stared, and stared and stared and then sobbed and then looked down. Slowly, she turned, and even more slowly the others turned with her, moving forward, towards the thin outline of a small and heavily barred door within the wall. Thomas watched them go and then dropped limply back against his cousin.  
Still a small peep of resistance went up from among Raphael's men, Ezekiel screaming at the top of his lungs that he didn't want to go he didn't wanna he didn't wanna while the other brother sighed and patted the arms of the fearful looking giants clutching him and Prince.  
"Relax, boys, they're with me."  
Raphael moved then, picking up the twins once more and jumping atop his horse, Lucian peacefully falling suit.  
"We'll go to the castle. We can leave them there and see how Maeve is faring."  
Alex screamed one last time, thrashing against the ropes before falling limp against the warlord's horse. Alphonse continued to silently sob, pressing himself as close to his brother as he could.  
Alex shuddered, closed his eyes, uselessly trying to choke down a sob.  
"I-I'm sorry Alphonse..." He creaked, as their definitive defeat finally downed up on him. There would be no one to save them from this in o e last dramatic moment, this was it.  
Alphonse trembled where he lay beside his brother, thinking of the warlord's words. If he would take him to tue castle...  
He turned as best as he could, facing Raphael, the man a white blurr in his teared up vision.  
"Please, h-he's my b-brother--I tried to go back to you--You have me! P-please don't touch him!"  
Raphael looked as if he would speak, then fell silent, then at length spoke again.  
"Even if I promised not to touch him, would you believe me?"  
Alphonse sobbed and fell silent, and the whole procession continued uninterrupted into the city's heart. Discarded blades littered the streets, tossed down among the dead, given up by the surrendering soldiers before they fled back to their homes. In the middle of all this stood Maeve, looking very pleased with herself, giving orders to Raphael's men to take guard in vital positions throughout the city in case anyone dared revolt.  
As they drew close, the slave prince let out a delighted squeal, squiggling out of his body guard's arms and running over to his master, nuzzling happily against her leg.  
"Mistress! I'm sorry I didn't return sooner--it's just he's gay," he pointed at Ezekiel, "HORRIBLY gay, and so I couldn't get him to come, and all the blondes are gay, too, so you should only pay attention to me, mistress!"  
Maeve laughed, pulling the boy up to her horse and onto her lap, wrapping an arm around him and kissing him briefly.  
"Aw pet, that's alright, all that matters now is that you are back where you belong…" As she spoke however, her eyes strayed away, towards Raphael, and she spurred her horse towards him.  
"Well well well, is this him? I can definitely see why you would murder an entire city for him—I suppose the extra one is a new addition—since you already have one, you should give me the other for the trouble of conquering he city for you~" She purred, reaching forward and grasping Alex's chin firmly to admire his face, chuckling when the boy hissed and tried to pull out of her grip.  
"Still unbroken, I like it~"  
Raphael hissed louder than Alex and kicked his horse to make it step back, putting the boy out of her reach.  
"You get the emperor, Seth and the princes, as we agreed. These ones are mine, and so are those," he added, turning his head to look at Luke and Thomas.  
Lucian went abruptly from serene to agitated.  
"What the fuck do you mean, they're--"  
"My lords!"  
All three looked up at that as a man on horseback ran up, gasping, breathing hard. He looked between all of them before fixing his eyes on Raphael.  
"Someone has set fire to the camp! It's already spread through most of the tents--there aren't enough of us to stop it--and they've set fire to your sails too, milady! I saw it myself, burning arrows out of the dark!"  
"Fuck, do I have to do anything myself?" Maeve hissed, her attention focused entirely on her camp, she shifted the boy in her hold to sit behind her back, instructing him to hold on tight. She turned to Raphael then.  
"Forget your fucking tents, you have the city now. Leave enough men to hold the city and bring the rest with you.” With that she spurred her horse forward, not turning to look behind herself to see if the warlord would follow.  
Raphael looked no more pleased about things than Maeve did. Had a few soldiers slipped away and set fire to the tents? It didn't matter, now, nothing more than a temporary inconvenience. The whole city was theirs. Maeve was more in trouble than he, and even her problem could be solved with new sails; the ships' wood was too wet to burn.  
He turned his horse and began to head towards the castle, calling out orders to his men to go ahead of him and assist Maeve as he did so, setting others to guard duty as she had. Lucian followed behind him, scowling, squeezing his own two captives too tightly.  
When they reached the emperor's empty nest Raphael passed by the room he had used, and the room Alphonse had used, making his way to the throne room and to the bedroom beyond. There were no windows, there; the best security he could have against the goblins still running loose.  
He set the twins carefully down on the bedding--Lucian dropping his own on the floor more carelessly—and then checked the room for hidden knives, removing them from reach of the slaves. And then they left, Raphael barking at his soldiers to keep careful watch as he closed the door behind them.  
Alex writhed around as soon as the sound of footsteps had faded, working his way to the bonds on his brother's wrists and tugging savagely at them with his teeth. It did no good at all. The cord was thick and triple woven, his efforts doing nothing, and still he tried and tried even as the others lay limp and silent save for the occasional sob.  
It was some time before Raphael returned--without Lucian, mercifully. Their search of the camp had done no good, and in the end they'd only saved a fraction of their supplies. The perpetrators hadn't been found, either; a few guards on duty reported a ragged band of people arriving, some lightly wounded, giving news of the victory and acting like pirates to Raphael's people and like Raphael's people to pirates. No one had paid enough attention to memorize their faces in the dark, and as such, the search had not revealed them. Maeve in the end had given up and gone to her ship to enjoy her spoils, and Lucian had greedily followed after, leaving Raphael to return alone.  
The warlord took a long breath, then drew a knife and turned towards Luke.  
Alphonse's breath caught in his chest, his eyes widening. Was he— No, no, if that was what he'd wanted, he would have gone for him or his brother first, he would not have gone for Luke.  
He remembered the other boy yanking him back from the warlord, pulling him away from Raphael as he screamed and struggled. But above all, he remembered Raphael's hateful eyes. He closed his own and shuddered, hiding his face against his brother.  
He meant to kill him—and if he did, why stop him? He wouldn't forget, could not forget the hell that was living under Raphael's grip. If the man chose to kill him now, he'd been doing him a mercy, one he would have granted him himself if he could.  
Thomas screamed, baring his teeth and jerking himself on top of Luke, but Raphael simply pushed him aside with a foot and kept him pinned with the same, despite his thrashing. Luke, meanwhile, only stared up into his eyes, his own wide and hollow, looking at the end.  
Raphael knelt, and his free hand ran along the priest's body lightly, feeling along his ribs and legs. Then he raised the knife, Thomas screaming--  
\--and cut the cords binding his wrists, then his legs.  
"Get in the bathroom, and be quiet."  
Luke didn't move. To the contrary he started trembling violently, as if the fear had taken a while to set in. Raphael ignored him, moving to cut Thomas' bonds and searching him in turn.  
"Take him."  
Thomas didn't need to be told twice; he scooped up his cousin and all but ran into the other room. With that done Raphael moved slowly to the bed, to Alex, bent over him--hesitated, thought better of it as the boy hissed, instead picking him up ropes and all and setting him carefully down inside the bathroom, checking his body over as he did so. Alex lay there for a moment, still hissing, until Thomas' shaking hands appeared and dragged him further in. Raphael shut the door quietly behind them, then turned to Alphonse.  
His hands traced his skin as he had the others, searching with purpose rather than malice, and when he'd made sure the boy was unarmed he cut his ties, too, and sheathed his knife before stepping back slowly, simply looking at him.  
For a long moment, Alphonse simply remained where he was left, pressed down against the bed, eyes closed shut as he trembled. He could still breathe the emperor's scent, impregnated on the sheets. He found it hard to believe that only a few days past, he had been happy and safe in his arms.  
Slowly, the boy sat up on the bed, trembling and whimpering. He turned towards the warlord, but he did not dare look up at him.  
"P-please…we look the same…you don't need him, I am e-enough…I will do anything you want…anything you s-say…just…" He couldn't even finish the sentence, shuddered and buried his face against his own hands as he sobbed quietly.  
Raphael's hand touched his hair, so light Alphonse didn't immediately notice.  
"I won't touch him. And I won't let anyone touch him, or Luke, or the other boy."  
The warlord shuddered and then suddenly swept the boy close, tucking his head beneath his own.  
"I thought Asmodeus had killed you. He told me he had drowned you in the lake. And then, and all the nights before, it wasn't your flesh I feared to lose."  
Alphonse shuddered, his fingers curling into the warlord's clothes.  
He wanted to scream.  
He wanted to bite and scratch, to struggle and scream that the emperor had never, would never hurt him. That in the past months he had made him feel safer and happier than he ever had since he'd met him. That he would have killed himself, if he could have, before falling into his hands.  
He wanted to yell all that and more. Would have, if he'd been alone. But he wasn't. And if there was anything the warlord had shown him, it was that he'd make sure he regretted anything he said or did against him.  
He choked on his own words for a moment, keeping them down, then drew a shaky breath.  
"Y-you almost killed me…y-you raped me and b-beat me, a-and sent me to h-him, a-and then raped me and b-beat me again for it," he croaked miserably, keeping his voice down so that his words would not carry into the bathroom.  
And what could he possibly say? Every word of it was true.  
Over the month they had been separated, he had thought of Alphonse constantly. First in anger, then in longing, and then in pain. It was no strength of his own that had changed that. Lucian had shown up soon after Raphael's departure from Amakiz, purring and offering to be allies once more, guarding the city until he returned. Raphael had accepted out of necessity. Yet seeing Lucian again, seeing the way the slaves of the camp cowered before him, had felt so very familiar. At first he thought it was memories of when he had seen him last.  
And then he realized it was memories of himself. A mirror to the monster.  
The emperor's words had haunted him, an echo of the soul of ten years past, when he had sworn to replace the violence of the desert with peace. Yet where was he now? Of course Alphonse did not love him. No one could love him. Yet, for the sake of his people's hunger, still he led an attack on the walls.  
It took him a minute to realize he was shaking. He released Alphonse abruptly and stood.  
"You can tell your companions they can come out. I will have food brought when I can."  
He turned and left, pushing the doors shut behind him.  
For a moment he simply sat there as if stunned, wide eyes staring at the closed doors in disbelief. He had…left? No touching no kissing, no pushing him down against the bed as he pretended he loved him. Nothing.  
All three of them looked up as the door of the bathroom opened. Alex's hisses turning into a sad little cry as his brother stood there instead of the emperor.  
Alphonse closed the door behind himself and went to them, holding his bound brother close as the other two held them as well.  
"A-Alphonse!—"  
"I-It's alright, I'm a-alright, I promise…h-he didn't do anything to me" He croaked, resting tiredly against his brother. Alex nuzzled him at best as he could, but that was it. The ropes were still too though and firm around his ankles and wrists, and there was nothing they could use to cut him free.  
Nothing else was said—there was nothing else to be said, no with their hopes stripped away from them, leaving uncertain doom looming ahead of them.  
All four of them tensed when, half an hour later, the door opened--only to relax when it was only a pair of trembling servants carrying food and drink--only to tense again when Raphael stepped in after them. He moved quietly to Alex, sighed, and cut his bonds--was rewarded with a vicious bite to the hand for his pains. Raphael removed him with all the tenderness he could muster, and then the other three seized him and held him back before he could bite again. Raphael left without another word, and the four waited, tensed, for his return. One hour slipped by after another before all fell into the unhappy sleep of exhaustion, leaving their food untouched. None of them felt much like eating.

Despite the loss of most of her fleet's sails, Maeve was in quite a good mood as she drew near her ship. The loss would be fixed within a few weeks, and in the meantime she could relax and enjoy the spoils of war. But for now, oh, for now! She was heading home to two beautiful new slaves, with a hot bastard accompanying her, and also her dear beloved slave and his twin and the little blonde boy. The latter two were still being carried by their body guards, the men looking more than ready to punch anyone who tried to take away their tiny precious charges, moving along only because of the blades at their backs. Ah well, a minor issue, and one she could deal with tomorrow~  
Her good mood deflated rather abruptly as one of her crew hopped down the ship's plank to greet her.  
"The general isn't doing so good, boss. He got cut pretty deep."  
"Aw, c'mon, it wasn't that--"  
The woman simply spoke louder, drowning Lucian's whining.  
"He's running a nasty fever and he keeps passing out."  
Maeve turned sharply towards Lucian, glaring.  
"Really? What happened to all that bragging about being a great fighter? Can't take down a skinny little thing while he fights two other people without almost killing him?" She hissed venomously, her previous fondness for him seemingly gone.  
Maeve turned away without awaiting an answer, rolling her sleeves up as she went. She had known since the beginning that there was the chance Seth did not survive the war, still, she was not any happier about that prospect.  
"Take Ezekiel back to Selene, lock the rest up together, and keep your best guards tailing this one. He is not to be trusted," She spat, motioning with her head towards Lucian  
"Hey! HEY! I was the one who GOT him for you, don't that mean nothing? He's probably just faking it and being a little bitch, babe, c'mon!"  
She whipped around abruptly at that, her sword at his neck.  
"Get close to any of my slaves and I'll cut your dick off and wear it as a necklace" She hissed, then turned away without bothering to give him a second glance and stepping into her ship.  
Seth had been kept in a room other than her own. There were two of his crew watching over him, and she had them stay as she went over to him, briefly examining him and frowning.  
"What the fuck happened to his hand? That is NOT how I left him."  
"Um…we had to break it so he would stop stabbing us."  
She let out an exasperated sigh. The general seemed to be unconscious at the moment, breathing harshly where he lay on the bed, his wound bandaged. She sat beside him, taking his hand carefully in hers. Well, better now than later.  
Seth woke up to pain—horrible pain on his shoulder and his hand, and the sound of his bones cracking.  
Hands held him down as he screamed and struggle, keeping him from wriggling free of the pirate's hold. Unfazed, Maeve continued fixing up the bones in his hand.  
"Quiet love, you'll thank me later for this."  
Two more fingers, many more screams, and then she was done. The other pirates kept him held down as she reached for the bandages, began winding them carefully around his hand, then around each separate finger, until the bandages were thick enough to keep his fingers from bending but loose enough to let the blood flow into them.  
With that done she stood up, leaned forward to look at the wound on his shoulder instead. Slim fingers lovingly stroked his hair, the gesture almost reassuring amongst all the pain he felt.  
"You poor thing, that bastard fucked you up real bad… but don't worry love, I've brought back things more broken than you."  
She instructed one of her charges to fetch her the things she needed, and once she had, climbed upon the bed, carefully straddling Seth's waist.  
First she cleaned and disinfected his wound. That was not so bad. The general merely cried out in pain rather than screamed as the alcohol soaked cloth pressed against his flesh. That was the easy part. Then came the hard part.  
She had her workers hold him down again. Seth was awake once more, and he tensed at that, trying to struggle uselessly, knowing it meant more pain would come.  
"Quiet general, I am trying to save your life here."  
One of her hands went to his neck, holding him down to the bed by it without choking him out, the other held a needle firmly and securely.  
Seth phased in and out of consciousness as she sewed his wound shut, his screaming ringing out and fading as he went. Maeve worked silently and diligently on his flesh, frowning as she thought about how it would leave him with a nasty scar, then grinning when she thought it would probably look good on him anyways.  
When that was done, she cleaned the wound again, then bandaged it and stepped back to admire her work. Seth laid upon the bed, limp and staring at nothing, body trembling, a few weak whimpers managing to escape his lips.  
Again, soft fingers stroked his hair, pushing the sweat slicked strands out of his face. Maeve crouched down beside him, at eye level with him. She smiled softly.  
"How are you feeling love?"  
Those normally sharp blue eyes were dim, somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, not comprehending. Another shudder wracked his body and his eyes slipped closed.  
Maeve thought he had fainted again, but then there was a sound softer than a whisper.  
"Please... keep your promise... don't hurt them..."  
One eye opened, truly seeing her, and with an effort the other followed.  
"I will... serve you, just... the people... don't..."  
Another tremor, eyes closing, head sagging against the pillows.  
She grinned impossibly wide, her good mood returning. The pirate leaned forward and kissed his forehead, stroking his hair yet again.  
"My poor, sweet general, the people? You should have thought of them when I first offered you surrender. Then so many would still be alive and you'd be in one piece. But don't worry love, I don't plan on touching a single one of them. As soon as we have our sails back, we'll drift back to sea and away from this horrid little city. So rest well dear, there are so many plans I have for you~"  
She did not know if he had heard her, and she did not stay to find out. With one last gentle stroke to his hair she stood up, instructing her people to call her if his condition worsened. With that she waltzed out of the room, good mood back.  
As she moved down the corridor she paused, a sudden familiar squeaking and squealing from behind a closed door catching her attention.  
"Selene, I missed you so, so much! I love you! Let's have sex!"  
More squeaking, happy, followed by more intensive squeaking of the bed spring kind.  
Awww, cute. She knocked on the door gently as she walked past, but did not bother opening it.  
"Remember to be careful you two!"  
She got a pair of startled squeaks in answer, and with that she left. As she made her way to her room, she caught a glimpse of Lucian, sulking but doing nothing to get himself in trouble. Her anger was mostly gone, but still, he needed some more time off as punishment before he learned his lesson. Besides, both her wounds and the war had left her exhausted, and she found herself in need of quieter company.  
The pirate queen made it to her bedroom, closing the door behind herself but not locking it, grinning at the shape strewn over her mattress.  
she said nothing as she sat on the bed very carefully, merely watched and grinned, slipping out of her boots, then her pants, finally throwing away her coat and blouse. Ah, being naked felt so good~  
She gave the emperor's bandage one last glance to make sure it was still clean and in place, then crawled onto the bed, snuggling up against his side, wrapping arms and legs around him as she rested her head against his chest and purred, her hand tracing slow circles over his skin.  
"I'm back darling, did you miss me?"  
The man gave her no answer other than a shudder. She leaned forward and licked his chest.  
"Hmm, I'd really missed this you know? resting up against you after a good hard fuck, the bed soft and cool while you are warm… although I'll have to admit that your bed was more comfortable than mine. What is it about other people's belongings that make me want them so much more?…No matter, neither of us will be going back to that bed now. Raphael has taken that, I'm afraid, as we'd agreed on. He's also taken the boy and his brother. A nice surprise for him I'm sure… Can you imagine? He must be fucking them both right now, right there on your bed, where you once pretended to make love~"  
Asmodeus simply stared dead eyed at the ceiling. When he had first heard Seth's screams, it had confirmed what he had already known. The war was over. He had screamed then, fought, wept, his cries drowned under what was surely the sound of Lucian raping Seth, until at last, spent, he had fallen silent.  
If his general was here, the walls had fallen. Alphonse and his brother had not escaped. And his nephews? He knew, he knew, but he tried to pretend he didn't, even as the tears came again.  
"Aw honey, don't cry. Today was a good day. I was so afraid I would lose one of you to the war, but I managed to get all of you after all. You, your pretty little nephews, Seth…although the poor thing was awfully wounded by that brute Lucian. I've done as much as I could to save him, all that's left is to wait and see…"  
Her voice trailed off at that moment, the woman merely resting against him, stroking his chest and pondering. But then she was moving, her hand trailing slowly downwards, between his legs, as she moved to lick at his chest once more.  
"I'm sorry I let him hurt you love, but you were being so…difficult… it's alright, I won't let him be rough again, and I'll make it up to you," She purred, grinning as she slowly slithered downwards. He shivered as he felt her warm breath wash over his cock.  
"I'd bet my ships you've missed my tongue all these years~" As if to prove her words, it traced playfully over his cock, and despite his best attempts, he could not help but let out a moan, trembling under her caress.  
"Just sit back and enjoy yourself love," She purred, beginning to hungrily lick at his length from base to tip, knowing where to tease and press.  
Oh, yes, there was no hope of his old flesh resisting that touch. Unlike Lucian's invasion this was tender and familiar, striking all the right nerves, the hot blood flushing through his tired veins. He gritted his teeth together but the weak hisses of pleasure still betrayed him, as did the slow rolling of his hips, the only thing his broken body could do without hurting his leg or ribs.  
Soon his cock stood tall and proud, Maeve smirking around his swollen flesh as she teased at him. It wasn't anything like Lucian's, but oh, it was still a fine old thing, and would please her just as well~  
"W-Why?"  
Despite herself, Maeve blinked. Eh? Why? That should be fairly obvious. She'd expected he'd curse at her, or beg, or if she was really lucky even cry, but--  
"I t-trusted you, I gave you everything, and in return you tried to enslave me, actually did enslave my kin... w-why?"  
His voice faded, but he spoke again before she could answer. He sounded so tired.  
"No, it doesn't matter. Please... even if it's too late to save the one you stole from me... please spare E-Ezekiel... he fell in love with a traveling merchant last year, a man, and he's shown no interest in women since--he'll be no use to you--but I can, you know I can, so please, let him go."  
For a moment there was only silence—and then Asmodeus groaned as she licked him again, and again, and again, the first drop of his seed slipping out.  
She straightened up then, straddling his hips and slowly, carefully taking him inside her. The emperor let out a reluctant groan of pleasure, while the pirate let out a contented sigh, closing her eyes and gently rocking her hips against his.  
"My poor beautiful emperor, so kind…I have no use for your other nephew at the moment, but I will keep him because it pleases me to see him. If you work well, I promise I'll keep him safe and happy~"  
Her hand stroked his belly, and she looked down upon him with a gentle smile.  
"For now rest, love. Your body is warm and I am tired, this will do enough," She cooed, pressing against him once more.  
Maeve took him gently, relishing the man's soft moans and groans, the way his tired body twisted as best it could as they made love, sweat covering their skins, his cock warm and hard inside her. The emperor did not last long, soon released inside her, and more than anything, Asmodeus' sweet voice and beautiful face drove her to release as well. She crumpled down against him, breathing rapidly and nuzzling at his neck.  
"Goodnight love, tomorrow I'll tend to you and yours, and you'll get to see your family. Doesn't that make you happy?" She purred, a question that needed no answer. The pirate leaned forward and kissed his muzzle, then rested her head back against his chest, closing her eyes contentedly as she drifted off to sleep pressed against him  
Asmodeus stared hollowly at the ceiling for a long time before his eyes closed. He doubted the pirate would keep her word, but until he was certain, he would obey her faithfully. Sleep came a long time later, and it was fitful and filled with black dreams.  
Maeve's own happy dreams were interrupted only once, one of her crew reporting that Seth's fever had taken a turn for the worse. Rolling her eyes at her crews incompetency she went to him, wiping the sweat from his burning body and layering him with cold wet cloths, rummaging through her store of herbs for something that would bring down his temperature. Getting him to drink it was the worst part of it--he was barely conscious and didn't seem capable of keeping it down--but at last the medicine was in him and the fever broke, the general falling into a deep and exhausted sleep. Barring anything unusual, Maeve thought his life was now safe, stroking his damp hair lovingly and again instructing her crew to fetch her if worse happened--and to change his cloths for fresh cold ones regularly besides.  
The pain was what woke him, many hours later--a deep long burning across his back and sunk deep into his shoulder, a duller throbbing in his hand. With effort he forced his eyes open, mind slowly waking, remembering the war--the loss--the half real half nightmare haze of the night before.  
It didn't take a strategist's mind to tell him he was lost. His right arm was completely disabled, his left hand shattered, and neither wound would heal for months. There would be no last desperate attempt to seize a weapon and fight. Aside from that--more a mockery than a necessity--he found one of his ankles had been bound firmly to the bed, as if he had any chance in hell of going anywhere. Ha!  
Testing himself, he pushed himself up on the elbow of his good--or, at least "better"--arm, but that slight movement took everything he had, the wound on his back screaming in protest as his muscles tightened, and a moment later he slumped back against the bed, breathing harder than he meant to.  
It was over.  
They had lost.


	7. Chapter 7

Maeve woke with a smile on her face. Her servants had not come to fetch her again, so that meant Seth was still alive and well. What a great day!  
She stirred and stretched against her captured emperor, moving forward and nuzzling him.  
"I'll take that nasty muzzle off if you promise to behave, yes love?"  
She praised him for his obedience, then carefully took his muzzle off and kissed him, pinching one of his nipples when he did not return the gesture and then purring as that made him obedient. When she pulled back she licked her lips.  
"Let's give you a bath, shall we love?"  
She didn't wait for an answer, undoing his bonds and helping him up, supporting his weight and carrying him to the bathroom beside her room.  
She laid him carefully inside the tub, his injured leg hanging outside the basin, and then, still naked herself, clambered in.  
She kissed him and caressed him even as she washed and cleaned his body, her hand finding his cock and teasing him, giggling at the man's unhappy cries of pleasure.  
She took him there again, setting a faster pace than before, her body now rested and craving a rougher sort of pleasure. When it was done, she washed him again and then took him out of the basin, had him hold himself up against the wall as she dried his body with a soft towel.  
"That was very good Asmodeus, you're being a very good boy, and good boys get rewarded~" She purred as she dressed him up, putting on him the pants and shirt of some old discarded lover.  
The emperor said nothing, merely bowed his head as she took him outside her room, down the hall and towards a guarded door. One of her crewmen opened the door for her, another taking Asmodeus from her, walking him in with the pirate queen herself going after.  
There was his nephew—the one he knew. There was also that blond slave he had taken from Raphael, nestled up against him, the two bundled up together in a corner. Maeve had them take Asmodeus to them.  
"There are some things I have to attend love, so be good and spend some quality time with your nephew yes?"  
"E-Ezekiel," Asmodeus croaked, trying so hard to get to his nephew that the guards had to grab him to keep him from falling out of their grip. Then at last he was set down beside his kin, and before he could even reach out for him Ezekiel had scrambled into his arms, sobbing. It was the first time in years he'd shown a desire for his presence.  
"U-Uncle, I want to go home!" He wailed, sobbing pathetically, even though his agony for the moment was centered solely around missing his servants and his comfortable bed. Asmodeus pulled him close and closed his eyes, shuddering.  
Maeve only watched them for a moment with a smile on her face before turning and leaving, the door closing behind her with the click of a lock. Prince meanwhile remained where he'd been left on the corner, curled up all around himself, shivering and whimpering as he stared at the emperor and his nephew.  
Several minutes passed this way, with the emperor holding Ezekiel until his sobbing had mostly subsided. All three of the occupants of the room stiffened, however, when the door swung open, and Maeve came in again.  
"You poor cute thing, I'm sorry to say you're never going back home, but that's alright, I might have something to cheer you up~"  
Another guard entered behind her, carrying a blond man dressed in rags, and he was carelessly thrown forward against the floor. The man whimpered, sitting up and looking nervously at his surroundings, then stiffening, his eyes going wide.  
"Prince?!—and… and… t-the prince?!"   
Prince was the first to react, jumping to his feet and staring with wide eyes for just one second before he ran forward, throwing himself against the other man and sobbing as he clung to him.  
"M-master! Master! Master Master—I t-thought you were dead!" He croaked brokenly, sobbing even more harshly than Ezekiel himself had done so with his uncle.  
The man remained in stunned silence for a second, slowly wrapping his arms around him and drawing the boy close, shakily stroking his back and hair.  
"I…I-I'm fine… I'm fine and you… I t-thought they had k-killed you too," He murmured quietly, as if unable to understand or believe what was happening. But even then, as he held the little slave close, his eyes strayed away from him, settled on emerald eyes instead.  
A rising growl answered him. Asmodeus grabbed his nephew's sleeve just as the boy tried to shoot forward, fixing the newcomer with a murderous stare--but then suddenly he let his nephew go, his expression changing entirely.  
"I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."  
The prince scurried along to the man, gripping him tightly and trembling all over. It was a long time before he could speak, the words small and cracking.  
"I t-thought... I thought you didn't like me a-anymore... that that was why you never came back... I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"  
He buried his face against the man's shoulder, sobbing harshly.  
Asmodeus meanwhile laid himself carefully down on the blankets his nephew had previously been occupying, although instead of relaxing entirely his eyes still remained fixed on Maeve.  
Maeve's eyes on the other hand were fixed on the three at the center of the room, and Asmodeus stiffened uneasily at the malicious glint in her eye.  
The blond let go of Prince, shivering as he drew the black haired boy closer, laughing sadly, nervously.  
"N-not like you? Your highness, I promised I would return to you as soon as I could, and well… here we are," He said, trying to comfort the boy as he drew him close and stroked his hair. Prince watched still and quiet by his side, eyes wide.  
Slowly, quietly, the boy crawled away, unnoticed, curling up by himself against the far corner, staring at the floor with those same wide eyes.  
But then the two in the middle of the room were startled as Maeve drew forward, wrapping her arms around Claude from behind him and peering down at the little Prince from above his shoulder.  
"See dear? This is not so bad, you might find yourself enjoying your stay here, and at the same time, Claude here gets to be useful!" She chirped, running a single finger down his chest as the man shuddered.  
"See, I paid a good price for him to the men who enslaved him, and I thought he was worth it, being so handsome and all. But if anything he has been a thorn in my side. Not good for bedding, not even good for breeding. I was about to send him on a cart straight to the coliseum to be sold as… entertainment… either for the gladiators or their beasts. Either way, the only loss would be the money I paid for him… but if you are a good boy, and you make me and you uncle happy, then I might find Claude here is not as useless as I thought~"  
Claude whimpered, closing his eyes shut and curling more firmly around the prince, shielding him as best as he could from the woman as he trembled where he lay.  
Ezekiel pulled himself suddenly up from Claude's hold and, rather than being a good boy, hissed viciously at Maeve. He looked much like a tinier, cuter version of his cranky uncle.  
"I won't let you hurt Claude, or my slave!"  
A pause.  
"--Or my uncle!"  
"Oh, Ezekiel, I'm touched," Asmodeus muttered.  
The emperor's eyes drifted to Maeve's.  
"Please, forgive him, he is young and... spoiled."  
Ezekiel hissed again as if in emphasis.  
Maeve paid the emperor no attention. Her grin merely grew at the little prince's insubordination, and her arms slowly but surely wrapped more firmly around Claude, drawing him close while the man closed his eyes and whimpered, feeling for all the wrold that he was trapped in the hold of a snake.  
"Ooooh you won't? And what could you possibly do to stop me if I did?" The little thing hissed louder, lunged forward—came to an abrupt pause as a sharp knife glinted at Claude's throat. The blond closed his eyes and whimpered.  
"It may do you good to remember that while I find it pleasant to call you a prince, you are not. You have no kingdom, you have no power, you have no servants. You have nothing except what I give you, and even that is still mine… So quiet down prince, behave, or I will slowly take away from you what little you have left, until I have to chain you down to the floor to keep you from throwing yourself out to the sea~" And as she spoke, her knife slowly glided down Claude's skin, leaving a thin red line wherever it went.  
The prince remained where he stood, tears leaping to his cheeks as sob after sob began leaving his body.  
"P-please stop, he is just a boy," Asmodeus' voice again, completely ignored. Maeve leaned forward, licking Claude's cheek and grinning.  
"That's better~"  
She stood up, taking her knife with her and chuckling as Claude collapsed against the floor, trembling as he laid there trying to make himself look small.  
She watched them with a satisfied grin.  
"Now be a dear take care of your uncle while I'm gone, pet," She laughed, turning and leaving as two others entered the room. It was… Asmodeus' other nephew, and the very pregnant girl from before, the both of them carrying trays of food and water for them.  
Asmodeus had forced himself to his knees, as if he could possibly stop her, but when she at last left he sunk back down against the floor. He saw his other nephew but could hardly bear to look at him. Ezekiel, meanwhile, wriggled his way into Claude's arms, sobbing hoarsely.  
And the two new arrivals? They set down the plates before happily starting to kiss in the corner, unphased by the presence of new company.  
Prince, meanwhile, continued to curl up in the corner, eyes hollow. Asmodeus had been watching his trembling nephew, eyes dull, but suddenly he turned his face towards the young blonde.  
"Prince... come here."  
The boy stirred as he was called, looking up towards the sound of the voice. He visibly shuddered as his eyes caught the emperor. The boy did not immediately move to obey his call.  
He clearly remembered the nights the man had roughly pulled him onto his bed while hissing about what a mediocre companion he made compared to Alphonse, to the point that he hadn't even bothered to fuck him.  
Still, he was an obedient slave. But who's slave was he any longer? His true master was Claude, who had first bought him and loved him and now let him go for the prince, to whom he had been given last. But even he had thrown him away. In the end, the emperor would have maximum authority over him, but Asmodeus was not an emperor anymore, was he?  
No, Raphael, his other master, had claimed the kingdom from him. And he had walked away into the castle with Alphonse and his brother without giving him a single glance. The woman had taken him then. Did that make her his master then?  
In the end he decided it didn't matter. The woman seemed to have no interest in him or whom he called master, and that made him nothing but a whore under the service of anyone strong enough to hurt him--anyone, really.  
With another whimper he closed his eyes and dragged himself towards Asmodeus, kneeling and bowing quietly before him, out of habit more than anything else.  
Prince's eyes opened, startled, as Asmodeus ran a hand gently through his hair. It was the kindest gesture he had ever shown to him.  
"I'm sorry, Prince. I have never had a taste for jewels, but that was no reason to be cruel to you."  
The boy shuddered at his words, but did not move from where he had bowed, eyes still closed, and voice quiet.  
"You weren't cruel to me… i-it is my fault I'm not g-good enough. My master could only afford to buy s-silver. An emperor should have n-nothing less than gold… I am no match for royalty," He croaked, further deflating against the floor.  
"B-but… I will do my best to please you, if y-you'll have me."  
Asmodeus sighed softly. This again! The boy lived for little more than sex... although how could he hold that against him? It had been within his power to end the slave trade and he had not. The boy's fate was entirely his fault. He grimaced.  
"Prince... Alphonse isn't a jewel, and even if he was, it wouldn't matter. I fell for him because he reminds me of someone I loved, someone I... lost. You are worthy of royalty, but my tastes simply lie elsewhere. I'm sorry, Prince, but I cannot give you what you crave."  
He shook his head softly.  
"But my nephew is fond of you, and it seems that man is as well. Why not go join them? You will find you are more loved than you think, I'm sure."  
Sigh. Here he was, encouraging a male slave to go join his nephew and another man in spooning. The world really had gone to pieces, hadn't it? Yet all he dared to hope was that his kin's sexual endeavors would entertain Maeve enough for her to not try to join them.  
The boy did not move, shuddered again.  
"I-if they call for me I'll be there." And, as the man had made it clear he had no need for him, he pushed himself back to his feet and returned to his corner, curling up and facing the wood instead of the room.  
"Prince..."  
The boy remained motionless; Asmodeus grimaced again. All the headaches of his last attempt to own a jewel were coming back. Such needy, pampered creatures.  
"Prince, come here. I am calling for you... if you wish to come."  
The boy shuddered again, but did not move.  
"I don't."  
Claude looked up at that, gently stroking Ezekiel's cheek one last time before he called out.  
"Prince?"  
And at that the boy shuddered all the more, covering his face and sobbing.  
He sobbed more harshly as he heard steps moving his way. Claude and Ezekiel sat by his side, and then the blond carefully and gently pulled him closer, onto his lap.  
"Prince…what is wrong? Are we not together again? Are you hurt?" Still hiding his face, the boy shook his head.  
"I-I should have n-never been made a jewel—nobody wants me—I'm not g-good enough to be even bronze!" He croaked, Claude sighed, drew him closer, tucking the blond's head under his chin.  
"Prince… I did not buy you because you were silver…I bought you because I like you…I wanted to take care of you and be with you, jewel or not. You are so loved the prince himself took you in, didn't he? You are so important he even promised to protect you himself, remember?" The jewel's tremors and sobs slowly subsided, and he pulled his hands away enough to peer up at Ezekiel.  
"B-but…now he has y-you… a-and you have h-him."  
"And we have you, right Zekey?"  
In response Ezekiel threw himself around Prince, hugging him tight and squeezing.  
"Yes! I love you, Prince, I told you this and I meant it--but I have seen you all month and I haven't seen Claude all year so of course I wanted to go snuggle with him right away! Don't be such a whore, I raised you better than that," he scolded.  
The impact of his reprimand was softened, however, by the affectionate way he kissed and nuzzled at the other boy as he said it.  
Zekey, meanwhile, had paused in his making out with Selene, looking at the others, aghast. He leaned in towards Selene then, speaking in a horrified whisper.  
"Mistress left us in a room full of GAYS!"  
Selene let out a frightened whimper, moving closer to the boy.  
"Z-zekey hold me!" She squeaked, trying to get closer to him even as her belly got in the way.  
Meanwhile, Prince sobbed even louder than before, although for reasons different than before, trying to press close to both Ezekiel and Claude at the same time while he nuzzled and kissed the prince back.  
"T-thank you! Thank you!"

Seth opened his eyes as the door to his room opened. Maeve walked in, grinning and carrying a tray of food in her hands. She sat on the bed besides him, placing the tray on her lap and reaching out to stroke his face.  
"Morning love, you look much better today. That nasty wound is going to take long to heal up, but at least we're on the right path. Now, care for some breakfast? I could help you catch up with last night, if you'd like~" She purred, grabbing the fork and taking a bite out of a large, juicy sausage.  
Seth turned his head ever so slightly to keep his eyes on her. The cute thing was so tense, although he was trying hard not to show it! His gaze drifted slowly to the food and then back to her.  
"I don't think anything I eat would stay in me... but thank you," he said, stiffly polite. "But if you have anything to dull pain, it would be appreciated."  
Undaunted, she took another bite from her sausage. Swallowing before she spoke.  
"Seth love, how are you planning on healing if you don't eat a thing? You aren't planning on dying on me are you?" She purred, setting the tray on the nightstand and taking one of the cups to herself, addressing him again before he could speak.  
"But if you insist... how about some rum?" She purred, leaning forward and laying a hand very gently on his back, making him wince before her fingers began tracing their way slowly downwards.  
The faintest of tremors ran through him, even when his expression remained steady. Why the woman had chosen to spare his life was fairly evident, but he had thought his injuries would stay her hand at least a little longer. To be truthful... her touches were the least of his concerns. It was a life returned to slavery that frightened him, and the dark things that had come with it. The red and white staining Asmodeus' body hadn't gone unnoticed. If that was what aroused her, then his wounds were no protection at all, might, in fact, draw her attention. He almost regretted drawing his knife and killing her men when they'd first started to drag him off, if for no other reason than wishing at least one of his hands was intact.  
He didn't want alcohol--didn't think he could keep it down any more than he could food--but wanting to avoid her ire and hoping there was some small chance of forcing himself asleep with it, he inclined his head.  
Maeve smiled, took a swig from the glass and then grabbed his chin and pressed her lips to his.  
It was a brief kiss, the liquid passing between their lips. He was left blinking as she pulled back.  
"Sorry love, there's just water. It wouldn't be good to give you rum on an empty stomach."  
She placed the glass down, finished the breakfast by herself, sighing when she finished.  
"You really should have just opened the doors, then I wouldn't have to wait a month to fuck you," She said mournfully, even as she pressed the glass of water against his lips.  
When she was done, she set the cup on the tray and stood, taking it with her.  
"If you do get hungry, tell the servants. i'll be back tonight and bring you something else either way," she purred, winking at him before she left.  
Once outside she frowned, pushing the tray into some passing servant's arms and looking around, letting out an exasperated hiss.  
"Ugh, where's Lucian when you need him?"

"Glad I didn't open them, really," Seth muttered once the door had closed, grimacing. A month? Part of him was relieved, and part of him very much doubted she could wait that long. Maybe a week, if he was lucky. Even that would be a mercy he hadn't been expecting.  
The women who had kept watch over him during the night checked on him only every hour or so now, and awake and alone, Seth turned to look at the ropes binding his leg. Ha, easy enough! He just had to bite through them, then escape the guards right outside without being noticed, then get into the city and lead a rebellion. With both arms broken.  
He laughed. And laughed and laughed until the tears were pouring down his face, until the guards looked in to make sure he wasn't dying, until out of breath he collapsed, gasping, against the bed.  
No, he wouldn't be able to escape, not now, quite possibly ever. And even if he did? How many of his friends had been slaughtered last night? How many had died because a few stupid sluggards hadn't watched their posts well?  
The tears were bitter, now, and he rubbed his face dry on the pillows before twisting to try to gnaw at his bindings. Trying to twist. His back screamed in protest and eventually he simply went limp, falling at length into weak sleep, his breathing growing slowly more shallow as the pain in his shoulder and back pulsed and pulsed and pulsed.

Maeve couldn't find Lucian, the useless bastard, no matter where she looked--but she did find someone. A servant informed her of her guest, and she went to the door only to be immediately disappointed.  
"You have the little blonde slave--Prince? I would like him back," Raphael said, rudely not even offering sex first.  
She frowned, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms over her chest as she glared at him.  
"Hm, you do? Because I don't remember you saying anything about him during our agreement... I guess you were too busy thinking of another blond," She mused, casually examining her nails without looking up at him. She smiled.  
"Besides, I don't think he wants to go with you either way. See, I have his current master, and his former master, both of which he's very fond of. It was a very emotional reunion. It would break my heart to separate them."  
Finally she looked up at him, grinning.  
"But perhaps a fair trade might soothe my heart enough for me to give him away?"  
Raphael grunted.  
"Let me see him and then we can talk about a trade."  
She shrugged.  
"Drop you weapons."  
The warlord let out a low growl but obeyed, discarding his weapons while a crew mate picked then up for him.  
"The hidden daggers too, pet."  
Another growl, but he did as bidden. Sometimes he forgot she knew perfectly well what was under his clothes.  
She looked him over again before she was satisfied, turned and led him into the ship.  
The door opened, and there was the boy, dozing calmly in the arms of some blond man he didn't know, clinging to both him and Asmodeus's nephew.  
The two boys were asleep, but the man was not, whinpered softly as he saw them and drawing his companions closer.  
Raphael took a step forward towards Prince, looking relieved--then paused, eyes moving elsewhere. Asmodeus was curled up quietly in the corner, also asleep, face drawn ever so slightly in pain.  
Maeve stepped abruptly between the emperor and the king, hissing, hand on her sword.  
"Don't even think about it."  
Raphael looked like he WOULD think about it, all the same, but seeing as he was there to make a trade with her he looked away. He moved towards Prince and knelt--ignoring how much the man flinched at his presence--and gently ran a hand through Prince's hair to wake him. The boy blinked groggily, stirring.  
"Hello, Prince. I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. Maeve says you like these two; do you want to stay with them, or come back to the castle with me?"  
The boy's eyes opened wide, his body going stiff. But before he could speak Claude had pushed him back, both him and Ezekiel, shielding them against the corner with his body.  
"D-don't ask him that, you're his… his new master, then you know he can only say yes," He whimpered, gathering all his courage to speak and oppose the warlord before him. But then his eyes fixed on Maeve, and he shuddered, looking down and trembling.  
"…Prince is a good boy… he's kind and bright and loving… please… please take good care of him," He croaked, moving to draw out the boy from behind him, hesitating only for a moment before he pushed him into the warlord's arms.  
He wanted the boy to stay, to be with both him and Ezekiel—but it was not safe for him, not in the arms of that woman. At any moment, when she grew bored or angry at them, she could have them tortured, killed. As long as Prince remained there, he would not be safe. He wanted the man to take Ezekiel too, but he knew better than he knew his own name that she would never allow it.  
Raphael held the boy gently in his arms, stroking his back carefully as Prince, despite his best efforts, trembled and whimpered in his arms.  
"...What did you want for him, Maeve--"  
"NOOOOOO!"  
Ezekiel had woken at the movements, and now he started screaming, shaking his head back and forth frantically--turning to Maeve.  
"Don't let him take him!" He shrieked, then as an afterthought, "please!"  
He turned to Raphael then, glaring and hissing and snarling.  
"He doesn't even love him! He never fucked him at all, Prince told me!"  
Asmodeus, meanwhile, had awoken violently at the scream--and now his eyes dilated wide, the man stiffening instantly at the sight of Raphael standing before his nephew.  
The emperor scrabbled forward then, remarkably fast for a man with a crippled leg, putting himself between his nephew and the warlord. He didn't hiss, he didn't threaten, he just flattened himself protectively atop the boy, ready to take a blade for him. Raphael sneered.  
"What a sad old bitch you've become, emperor. Or maybe that's all you ever were."  
Prince whimpered in response and looked about ready to burst into tears, but said nothing. Maeve on the other hand chuckled.  
"Don't be rude Raphael, my poor dear emperor did give us a lot of trouble. Remember how much help you had to get to defeat this 'sad old bitch.'"  
With that she stepped forward, between Asmodeus and the warlord, looking down at him, still grinning.  
"Prince is an irreplaceable member of this big happy family, so you should be happy to hear all I want from you is the spare blond you caught. Getting your dick wet in one will be the same as with the other, so you should have no trouble parting with him~"  
Ezekiel continued to blubber miserably from underneath his uncle. Raphael, meanwhile, gave the long, slow sigh of one who is extremely exasperated.  
"I won't part with him. And I don't want Prince to part from you. I will simply pay for you to treat him kindly and to give me the promise that, if you grow tired of him and his companions, you offer me the chance to buy them before you look elsewhere. Is there something I can offer you for that, Maeve?"  
Maeve rolled her eyes and let out an even more exasperated sigh than his.  
"How boring… can't I have the boy even for a night?"  
"No," he growled. "Don't you have enough meat to fuck? Or did the general die on you?"  
Maeve hissed in response, crouching before him, their faces an inch apart.  
"If he does it will be your fault, and you'll OWE me that boy."  
"Don't blame me for Lucian's idiocy."  
"He is your man, and so it IS your fault!"  
There was more growling, more glaring, the warlord looking as if he wanted to say something else but remaining quiet, and then finally Maeve budged, sighing.  
"You're the worst customer I've ever had! This is the LAST deal I am making with you, so you better take it." She moved quickly, and his arms were too busy carrying Prince to stop her. Her fingers groped at his crotch, firmly and teasingly, and she grinned.  
"You, in my bed, all night long~"  
Raphael hissed at that, not because he minded the proposal, but because he nearly dropped poor Prince at her caresses. He set the boy swiftly down, then turned towards her--all while she continued happily squeezing him.  
"Fine--fine. You will let me see him when I come to the coast, yes?"  
Maeve leaned forward, still grinning.  
"Now now warlord, don't be greedy, that was not part of the deal, but I will gladly let you see him again for another visit to my bed… an hour, a night, we'll see how I'm feeling when the time comes." She gave him one last squeeze, then let go entirely, standing up and walking away, pausing at the door and gesturing with a mocking curtsey.  
"After you, sir~"   
Ezekiel let out a heavy sigh of relief, wrapping arms and legs around Prince now that he'd been set down again, nuzzling him and letting out excited squeaks. Raphael seemed fairly pleased with the arrangement as well, yet even so, he hesitated at the door... looked down at the emperor still crouched protectively between him and the boy.  
"Can we bring him?"  
Maeve looked amused at his question, arched an eyebrow even as she kept on grinning.  
"I would actually like that very much… would like that, if your brute of a man hadn't destroyed his ass… I am partly to blame for that however—sorry love, I won't let anyone fuck you harshly again," She cooed the last words, blowing a reassuring kiss towards Asmodeus.  
With that she turned towards Raphael again.  
"Now would you mind? It turns out all the men in my bounty are either injured or gay, so I'm in a bit of a hurry here." Her words ended in a hiss and her eyes strayed to the warlord's crotch.  
"Maybe when you visit again, and if you promise to behave, we can work something out between the three of us~"  
Raphael would have loved to argue the point, but he knew Maeve wouldn't bend, and so with a last little hiss of annoyance he followed Maeve out of the room, the door slamming and locking behind them. Asmodeus shuddered again and then slowly went limp--at least until Prince and Ezekiel started kissing, at which point he grimaced and inched away into corner, out of reach but close enough to return quickly if necessary.  
Raphael and Maeve, meanwhile, didn't make it very far. When the door closed Raphael suddenly turned, slamming her up against the wall, hands roaming her hips while his teeth bit into her shoulder.  
Maeve grunted, her body shivering with pain as the man slammed her back against the wall, setting afire all her wounds and aches. Still, she grinned, resting for a moment, closing her eyes and enjoying the feeling of the warlord's strong body pressing her back against the wall, his teeth at her shoulder.  
Her hand slowly found its way into his hair, fingers curling in on it.  
"What, no kisses? I've seen you treat whores better."  
She forced his face away from her shoulder then, possessively claiming his lips and pushing back against his caresses.  
Meanwhile, the guards posted before the door blinked, standing there awkwardly.  
"Um..."  
The pirate playfully bit his lip one last time before pulling back, purring.  
"Sorry to interrupt love, but the deal WAS to have you in my bed... besides, the emperor is too frail to stand in the hall with us. I can't let you use his ass, but if you're still up for it, he can still join us~"  
Raphael's answer was a little hiss of excitement, and he turned, shoving past the guards and back into the room. A louder hiss then, one that abruptly cut off, Raphael emerging again with one arm around the emperor's knees and another around his throat to keep him from biting. Still the man struggled, scrabbling, scratching viciously at Raphael's arms. Maeve stepped forward, making sure the warlord wasn't holding the emperor's neck too tightly and then kissing Asmodeus' hair.  
"Shh, love, you promised to be a good boy, remember?"  
Asmodeus shuddered but slowly went still. Ezekiel, meanwhile, cried out in horror from the room, but Maeve simply purred at him before pushing the door shut.  
"Don't worry, dear, we aren't doing anything your uncle won't enjoy."  
Raphael was well acquainted with the way to Maeve's room, needing no guidance to find his way there. Once they arrived he threw the emperor carelessly upon the sheets--and then fell on Maeve, ravenous, lips meeting as his fingers tore open her shirt.  
Maeve's laughter was only cut off by Raphael's kisses, the woman pressing back eagerly against him, harshly tugging at his clothes as he had hers, removing his robes, his shirt. Her hands fell upon his pants, tugged them open, and a moment later she had pulled herself out of his grip to fall to her knees before him.  
But her tongue never lapped at his cock, the woman never taking his hardened shaft into her mouth. Instead all he felt was her warm breath washing teasingly over his length.  
He looked down, letting out an annoyed little his, his fingers curling into her hair. She grinned at him, licking her lips, but not moving to pleasure him.  
"Actually love, I have a better idea."  
Slowly, reluctantly, he let go of her hair, and so she sprung to her feet, walked over to one of her drawers, searching impatiently through them before she seemed to find what she had been looking for, letting out a pleased hum.  
It was a large metal ring, far too wide for any finger, but small enough to be fit in someone's mouth, and had thick leather belts attached on each side. She waltzed over to Asmodeus, reminding him to be good as he tried to struggle. Still she had some trouble pushing the thing into his mouth and wrapping the belts around his face to hold it firmly in place.  
In the end he was left with his mouth forced open, ring in his moth, an opening big enough for Raphael's cock to pass through.  
Maeve licked her lips, pushing the emperor on his back against the bed. His head was left hanging over the edge, facing Raphael.  
"What do you say love, want to try?"  
Raphael cocked his head to the side and slowly smiled.  
"You are truly a generous host, Maeve."  
In that moment he looked more like Lucian than himself. Asmodeus' fingers curled tightly, unhappily in the blankets, and he closed his eyes as Raphael stepped closer. Maeve stroked his chest soothingly, cooing as she felt his pounding heart, telling the sweet silly thing it would be alright, she wouldn't let the warlord hurt him.  
That was only one of many concerns. He hated her and him both with a passion beyond belief, the type of hate he had previously only directed towards his wife's killers as he ripped them slowly apart. Yet, even though he was not bound, he couldn't move to fight them. His fists clenched all the tighter into the bedding, knuckles white, a continuous tremor passing through his body.  
Raphael for his part simply continued to gloat, looking down at his victim with that vicious sneer still held on his face. One hand reached out to roughly caress the man's cheek.  
"You know, right now I can almost see what she sees in you. Try to look a bit happier, Asmodeus; you should be overjoyed to pleasure your new emperor."  
With a grunt, then, Raphael sheathed himself in the man's mouth. Asmodeus fought instinctively at the intrusion, the warlord's cock pressing hard into his throat, but Maeve pushed herself on him and Raphael pinned his shoulders until his struggles stopped, the man realizing he could still breathe--and regretting it. Raphael's sacs hung down against his face, stinking, soft warm flesh sticking against his skin.  
Raphael let out a pleased murmur as he looked down, shaft buried to the base in his enemy's mouth, and then he withdrew only to thrust in anew, setting a swift pace, grunting and moaning at the feel of the man's hot wet throat. His balls smacked lightly into Asmodeus with every buck, a pleasant sound filling the air. A fitting treatment for the bastard who had stolen Alphonse from him. Raphael regretted only that it wouldn't be followed by hard rape and slow execution.  
Asmodeus was tense as a wound string, breathing only infrequently, and Maeve knew that wouldn't do at all. She had to help the poor old thing relax so he wouldn't have some sudden fit and die, and also so that he could enjoy this as much as she and Raphael were enjoying it. To that end she cheerfully opened his pants, savoring how his quivering grew stronger at it, and lowered her head to gently engulf his cock, beginning to suckle. No amount of willpower in the emperor's cold black heart could save him then, his manhood stiffening firmly under her care, muffled and wretched sounds of bliss beginning to leave him even as Raphael continued to fuck his face.  
Maeve closed her eyes and pretended, with a pleased smile, that Asmodeus was as excited about sucking dick as he was about having his dick sucked.  
Raphael drove himself to orgasm swiftly, and Asmodeus followed after, a fairly unpleasant timing that led to him coughing and choking on the other's seed as he tried to gasp for air. Raphael accordingly kept his cock firmly in place even after he had finished, laughing, until Maeve shooed him off, sitting up and licking the last traces of Asmodeus' semen from her lips.  
Once released, Asmodeus kicked himself roughly over on to his belly, fingers scrabbling at the fucking harness. Once it came loose he yanked it free and spat, saliva and seed dribbling from his mouth to the floor, after which he collapsed against the bed, head still hanging over the edge, trembling.  
Raphael moved to sit beside Maeve, wrapping one arm around her and running his fingers teasingly down Asmodeus' back with the other.  
"Frightened, hm? Poor thing."  
The emperor's head jerked around then, and his eyes were livid and alive with fire.  
"Hate, not fear, you stupid bastard."  
Raphael simply looked back at him calmly. The man wasn't exactly imposing, both in general and now, with his seed trickling down his face. Raphael smiled.  
"You know, I bet your nephew would love my cock."  
Asmodeus' eyes widened--a started hiss, body shaking, limbs clenched to spring--but then it left him, and he looked instead at Maeve, pleading, begging his mistress for mercy.  
Maeve purred like a kitten, pressing back against Raphael even as her eyes remained solely on Asmodeus, quite enjoying his miserable helplessness.  
"Oh don't look at me that way. We all know your nephew is quite the little slut. I agree he'd love to get a taste of Raphael's cock~"  
She laughed at the way he trembled, then slowly crawled away from Raphael and towards the emperor, leaning forward and licking some of Raphael's seed off his face while her fingers glided over his cock.  
"Shh, don't worry love, I am a woman of my word, and unless your nephew explicitly asks for it I won't let Raphael's nasty cock get anywhere near him, even if he misbehaves... as long as you remain obedient, of course~" She purred, leaning forward and kissing him, mixing up the taste of his seed with Raphael's in their mouths. She straddled his waist then, her pants already discarded on the floor while she had pleasured him, and slowly, lovingly pressed her hips down against his, taking his hard cock into her.  
Asmodeus let out a soft grunt then, his hands instinctively going to her hips, pressing against her as best his injuries would allow. Apparently as best as he could was still quite pleasing to her, Maeve's purrs growing into a steady thrum of contentment, her own movements making up for the restraint in his.  
The emperor threw his head back and gave himself up willingly, thrusting slow but strong into her, hunting that heat as she sang in glee atop him. Sex was an escape, even when taken with the woman he hated, and he would not resist when it was done in a way he found pleasant.  
Maeve's eyes opened and she half turned her head in carnal excitement as Raphael suddenly moved to press close behind her. Again his teeth sought her flesh, marking her other shoulder now, his hands crawling up her thighs and sides to cup and squeeze her breasts at the same time that he, too, entered her.  
Her lecherous moan drowned out Asmodeus' weaker and guiltier one, the tightness of two thick cocks in one woman feeling immensely pleasant for both him and her.  
Raphael growled into her skin and Maeve trembled, feeling like she might actually be left satisfied that night, laughing and riding them both with glee. Soon the sweat was running down three bodies, three bodies giving voice, three bodies mingling into one--but still one tiny thing was wrong.  
Maeve reached out and pinched Asmodeus' nipple, making him reluctantly open an eye.  
"Please try to keep pace with Raphy, love."  
"He's going too fast--"  
Another pinch, Asmodeus wincing.  
"No, dear, he's going exactly the right speed~"  
Asmodeus took a shuddering breath and then did his best to match the pace. He still didn't quite manage--poor dear, so old and frail while Raphael was young and strong--but it felt very nice all the same, their manhoods sliding into her together more often than not. Raphael groaned in pleasure, then lapped softly at her cheek.  
"You've trained him so well. I wish I could have..."  
He fell silent, but Asmodeus finished for him, in a contemptuous sneer.  
"Trained Alphonse?”  
Raphael went quiet, his thrusts noticeably slowing. The emperor spat.  
"All you did was break him! Do you know what he asked, the night I took him? He begged me to save him from you--me, of all people!"  
Asmodeus too slowed in his bucking, breathing hard for reasons that had nothing to do with exertion, his face twisted with hate.  
"Maeve made me her bitch by taking my kin hostage, and that's what you have now, isn't it? How many times have you raped poor Alexander by now? I imagine he screamed. Do you know why? Because I never touched him! You filthy, vicious bastard of a dog! Let the sands remember that even this miserable tyrant was kinder than you. You are a monster."  
Raphael had a strange look on his face, like he couldn't decide whether he wanted to strangle Asmodeus or flinch away from him. At length he responded.  
"I won't hurt him."  
Asmodeus laughed and hissed on the same breath.  
"Liar."  
Raphael looked away, down at the bedding, shaking softly.  
Maeve glared at the two of them. A considerably difficult task, keeping in mind the fact that the two men were on opposite sides of her.  
"Nice talk the two of you, now may I remind you what we're really here for?" She hissed, pointedly shoving herself back down against their cocks.  
Raphael shook himself, as if waking, and then a moment later he was thrusting into her again. Asmodeus followed suit a moment later, but it wasn't the same as before. It was silent and slower and even when they all came in union shortly after the moans of the two males were short lived and subdued. Asmodeus turned his face away, staring unhappily at the ship's walls, and Raphael grunted.  
"He's just going to slow us down. Have your servants take him away."  
Maeve let out an exasperated sigh, getting angrily off of them.  
"Men," She hissed in disgust, throwing herself back on her mattress and crossing her arms over her chest as she yelled for one of her pirates.  
The door opened shortly after, a man and a woman peering in, both looking inside the room at very different places.  
"You called ma'am?"  
"Take the emperor out and give him a bath before you return him to his nephew... also bring him a couple of mattresses, poor thing is too banged up for the floor," She snapped, although her voice considerably softened at that last sentence.  
"Yes ma'am." They came in, unphased by the mess and nakedness of that room, picking up the emperor and taking him away, closing the door behind themselves.  
She turned to Raphael, glaring.  
"Seriously?! You murder hundreds to get your favorite fuck toy back, and NOW you choose to feel bad about it? Gods!"  
Raphael grunted again. It seemed to be his preferred mode of communication of late. He spoke shortly after, however, just as Maeve was raising her arm to give him a good smacking.  
"It wasn't... It was partly that, at first, but it had to be done either way. We need the food. You said yourself that you won't play maid to my men forever."  
She laughed.  
"Not all the food in the desert comes from Amakiz, Raphael. Stop making excuses. Given time you would have found it elsewhere, but elsewhere didn't have Alphonse, did it?" She rolled over, smiling maliciously up at him.  
"He must be exceptionally good in bed, for both you and Asmodeus to bet everything you had for him. The emperor seems quite infatuated with him.. .I'd be glad to let you rape the little thing in front of him just to see him cry~"  
Raphael winced when she said the word rape. As if he hadn't already known. As if he hadn't spent months pretending it was something else. He looked away again, long enough that at last she really did slap him.  
"Hey, remember your promise, oh repentant one. Cry over your life after."  
"...There is food in the desert, but not enough to sustain such a large force in one place--"  
She slapped him again.  
"Stop changing the fucking topic," She grabbed him by the collar, leaning forward, "Which IS fucking, by the way."  
He grunted again and got another slap for his troubles.  
"You should really marry Lucian. Where is he, by the by?"  
She glared at him, hissing.  
"I would never marry your brute of a man, no matter how good his dick might be... although, now that you're an emperor..." Her tone changed from angry to flirtatious, and soon she was crawling onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
"Queen of the Sea, King of the Sands, Emperors of all the land there is... We would have beautiful children, you and I, but more importantly, so much great sex to be had~" She rubbed herself against his hardness--even now, that is how he remained. Kissed him gently and purred into his ear.  
"We could start even now, and I would let you fuck any other man under the hot sun and above the cold sea. Just not any women. A mother has to protect her child's royal birthright, you see~"  
"I'm not really interested in marriage, or in being emperor, for that matter," Raphael murmured. Gods and dragons, what an infuriating man! He had been so lovely and ferocious once and now just--just look at him! Ungrateful, useless man--  
"Where IS Lucian?" He repeated, half to himself.  
"Wasn't he with you? I haven't seen him since yesterday."  
Maeve hissed again, her nails digging into his skin.  
"Wherever he is, he's getting his dick wet, as you should be doing," She snapped, annoyed.  
As the words left her mouth however, another thought crossed her mind. She blinked, before narrowing her eyes, chuckling maliciously.  
"All I know is he's definitely not here--I gave my crew explicit orders to not let him near any of the slaves... I sure hope you did the same dear, you know how he is~"  
With that she fell off of him and onto the bed, crossing her legs and examining her nails.  
"It would be a real shame if he found poor Alphonse and his brother, locked in a room all alone, while you're so far away~"  
"Of course I--" Raphael snapped, but then he stopped, eyes widening. That had never stopped Lucian before.  
A moment later he was up, hastily jerking his pants closed and running towards the door, leaving it open in his wake.  
Maeve laughed.

What a stupid whore! How dare she turn him away--all because of that stupid pussy general who couldn't handle a little cut--he had got him for her, hadn't he? She should suck his dick in gratitude!  
That had been Lucian's mood all morning, after a night of waiting hopefully around the ship hadn't seen Maeve change her mind. He'd gone skulking back into the city, then, which was still eerie quiet despite Raphael telling his new subjects to resume living as normal. The bodies were gone from the streets, but stains remained in spots, and no one much trusted their new overseers.  
This had left Lucian--and the vagabonds he'd brought with him--to slink around the city in silence, pretending to be members of Raphael's guard and abusing that privilege. But it was Lucian who had been luckiest of all. With almost an extra sense for finding sex, he'd stumbled across a lavish mansion filled with beautiful young boys and girls, and despite the screams of the few older people that he had to pay to buy he had fucked every last one of them. And killed a few of their whiny owners until they stopped trying to make him leave.  
When every single slave in the house had been left sobbing and broken, he enquired as to where he could find more such slaves, and was told in trembling voice that he was in the house of the bronze jewels, and that silver and gold yet remained.  
What a wonderful city!  
The silver jewels were even more beautiful than the former; a miracle. And the gold slaves! Funny how much some of them resembled Raphael's little trophy. He would remember their sweet bodies and sweet screams forever.  
Yet, even as he lay there smug in the middle of a pile of naked, cowering, bleeding former virgins, he remembered something and frowned.  
Speaking of Alphonse...  
His quest for sex had, well, mostly been for sex. Yet it had also been in part to distract him from what an asshole Raphael was being, trying to deny him his rightful prizes and not even sharing his own. What a greedy whore he'd become! He used to be much more considerate.  
It was time to give his "brother" a piece of his mind.  
Only, he wasn't there. Two snarling guards greeted him instead, and told him they had been given explicit orders not to let him near the slaves. Lucian shrugged sadly, turned--and then whipped back around, bisecting one, felling the other after a brief and helpless battle.  
Lucian sheathed his sword without bothering to clean it and slammed the doors open, grinning.  
"Long time no see, bitches!"  
They heard the sound of a door slamming open, and then the man's voice. Both Luke and Alphonse looked as if they had just seen a ghost. Or worse, a monster.  
The priest froze up in fear, but Alphonse scrambled to his feet, going to the bathroom door and locking it before he pushed himself up against it with as much strength as he could.  
He turned on the others with wide frightened eyes, and even as he opened his mouth, he did not dare make a sound, mouthed the words quietly. Help me.  
His brother scrambled to his feet as well, putting his weight against the door as well and quietly motioning for Thomas to do the same.  
Thomas scrambled to join them, and a moment later Luke did, too.  
"Where are you, little kiddies?" Lucian called, sing-song, voice drawing ever near the door. Maybe Raphael had moved them, but he doubted it. It was just his style to claim the old emperor's room for his own and fuck his former lover in it.  
"Maybe... behind... here?"  
A vicious snarl of splintering wood; Thomas shoved Alex down just in time as the tip of a sword came bursting through the door. A few more vigorous wiggles and the blade retreated, a blue eye filling the hole.  
"Oh, THERE you are!"  
Mad laughter, and then the sword was bursting through the door again and again, forcing the slaves to scramble away. He kicked the shattered door open a moment later, grinning, one hand on his sword and the other stroking his engorged cock.  
"Did you miss me, Lukey? What about you, Al? And ohoho, just LOOK at the two new cuties! I think I'll fuck, hmm, all of you."  
Thomas shoved Luke and the others behind him, Alex in turn pushed Alphonse further back still--but to everyone's surprise Luke stepped forward, between them and the monster.  
"Take me. Raphael will kill you if you touch the others, but you can have me."  
Lucian grinned real slow and chuckled.  
"Oh, sweetheart, I will definitely fuck you. But, just because you offered, I'm going to fuck you last. Slow and sweet. Real gentle like. As for Raphy, don't worry, he'll forgive me because he's no better himself. Now," he said with a flourish, pointing at them all, "who first? Hmm..."  
His finger moved to Thomas.  
"I'm definitely going to fuck you, but I want something tighter first, and Luke is already established as last, so..."  
His finger strayed to the twins, his grin going wider, like a savage split of teeth.  
"One of you. But which? Any volunteers?"  
The two brothers had been clutching to one another, trembling. Alphonse tried to hide from sight, and Alex did not dare look at the man or his disgusting display. Still, neither of them needed to look at him to know what he meant.  
Alphonse sobbed, then pushed away from his brother, pressing himself against the wooden wall, banging and scratching at it as he screamed.  
"Help! Help! Somebody--Anybody--Raphael! Raphael! RAPHAEL!" He screamed as loud as he could, hoping his voice would carry to any servant nearby that could fetch the warlord and bring him there before it was too late.  
His brother understood, and a moment later he had joined him, not calling for the warlord, but crying for help nonetheless.  
Screams of rage and pain from behind them, weight hitting the floor, Luke crying out in anguish--and then powerful hands had seized them both by the throats, dragging them away, towards the bedroom. Alphonse caught a glimpse of Luke clutching a bleeding Thomas, a red gash sliced open across his belly. Then Lucian kicked the splintered door shut behind him and strode to the bed.  
The monster withdrew a rope from his pocket, similar to that Raphael had used--so useful, when dealing with multiple victims!--and bound a screaming, struggling Alex spread eagled to the bed, ignoring his brother's cries and bites as he fought to stop him.  
When those efforts failed, Alphonse switched attempts, trying to grab a knife from Lucian's belt--rewarded with a vicious strike and a cry of pain, collapsing. Lucian moved to one of the heavy dressers about the room, sliding it in front of the bathroom door to keep anyone from interfering--and just in time; Luke cried out from the other side, sobbing, begging, scrabbling, pleading to be taken in the other boys' place.  
Lucian turned to see Alphonse not running, but splayed protectively atop his brother, hissing as he shook. The monster grinned so wide it seemed to touch his eyes.  
"Well, well, well! I was going to rape your tight little twin first, but..."  
He strode over, grabbing Alphonse by the neck, shaking him viciously before he tore at his clothes. Soon Alphonse hung naked from his hand, and the man pressed him eagerly down atop his brother as he pulled himself on to the bed.  
"I think I'll take you first. On top of him."  
"Stop! Stop! STOP!" Alex, screaming and thrashing where he lay bound on the bed, going nowhere, tears of frustration sliding down his cheeks.  
Alphonse sobbed but did not struggle, lay where he was pressed, shaking like a leaf in a storm. His fingers curled into his brother's clothes, and he hid his face against his chest as he cried.  
"Close your e-eyes, p-please close your e-eyes!" He cried. Alex froze, watching his brother cry against him with horror in his eyes, and then, closing his eyes he pressed his face against his brother's hair.  
Lucian sneered, aligning his cock with the boy's sweet entrance. Alphonse could feel the veins on it throbbing and he knew, no matter how many times he had been fucked, that it was going to hurt him. Alphonse sobbed, screamed, buried his face against his brother.  
"I hope you're still tight--"  
A roar.  
Lucian rolled to his side and pulled his sword, getting to his feet just as Raphael leapt at him.   
"Hey--"  
Steel met steel, Raphael pulling away and striking again, again, using dogged speed to make up for brute strength he could not counter.  
"Hey--HEY--"  
Lucian yelped as the blade came all too close to his stomach. He ducked back, and Raphael stayed between him and the bed, breathing hard.  
"What did you do to them?!"  
"Oh, come on, I mean--"  
"What did you DO TO THEM?!"  
Lucian sighed. Raphael could be so stubborn when he got into one of his moods.  
"Look, Raphy, I know you're cranky about the guards, but considering how useless they were I doubt they were important--"  
Raphael lunged again; Lucian countered and retreated further, hastily.  
"And yah I was going to fuck your slaves but I wasn't going to kill them or anything! And let's be honest, you OWE me! If I hadn't held them off they'd be long gone by now, and the priest is mine anyway, I was just letting you borrow him, like I said in my letter!"  
Raphael, breathing hard, pointed his sword at Lucian.  
"You became the monster we swore to destroy."  
Lucian couldn't have looked more stunned if Raphael had just announced seeing a dragon. He stared at his former comrade a moment longer before letting his head loll to the side. His eyes narrowed and his lips formed a tight smile.  
"Oh, and you became a saint, dear brother? Is that why you have four slaves in your room ready for fucking, in the middle of a city filled with the dead you slaughtered? How _noble_ of you! Truly a champion of justice and mercy!"  
Raphael made a funny little noise as if he wasn't breathing properly, blade trembling in his hand. Lucian sneered and knocked it away with his own, moving past him, and Raphael didn't stop him. The warlord simply kept staring at nothing as Lucian sat down on the bed, stroking a finger down Alphonse's trembling spine, slipping it deep in his ass and making him cry out.  
"Just admit it, Raphael; you and me are both in the same bed. We're monsters, you and I. But don't feel too bad. We tried being nice and we found out you can't survive in this world by being nice, didn't we?"  
Another finger slid in, Alphonse sobbing, gurgling.  
"So stop feeling so damn guilty about it and embrace it! C'mon, brother, what do you say? You me and Maeve sitting pretty at the top of this world, with all the cute little fuck slaves we could want. It'll be fun! So put down your sword, come over here, and let's pop these cherries together, eh? I'll even let you have the tight one--"  
Lucian looked up to see Raphael slashing out at him. He caught the blow just in time, standing, fighting back with a snarl. A flurry of metal like two serpents dancing, swords singing of war, the two brothers of the desert blade to blade in a wonderful dance of death. Lucian's blade was stronger, every blow knocking the other back foot by foot, but Raphael struck three times to his every two, and one strike landed its mark.  
Lucian smirked as his sword dropped from his bleeding hand, raising both in surrender.  
"Alright, Raphy, you win--"  
He choked. He looked down at the sword in his chest, and then slowly back to Raphael.  
"Forgive me, brother, for not being able to save you."  
Those wide blue eyes stared at him for a long time before they dimmed, Lucian sinking to the floor as if to sleep, red pooling around his form. Raphael knelt and closed his eyes and his own.  
"May the river carry you far away from this hell, until you can find peace."  
Raphael knelt a minute longer before slowly standing.  
"Are you hurt, Alphonse?"  
The boy's only answer was a sob. Raphael turned, saw Alphonse exactly where he had been left, lying naked atop his brother, trembling and sobbing, while Alex lay beneath him, face streaked with tears and chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes closed shut even then.  
He moved forward, gently touched the boy's back. The blond croaked and shuddered in response, but did not look at him. He picked him up, pulling him away from his brother to make sure Lucian had not hurt him.  
Alphonse's trembling hand curled tightly against the warlord's shirt, and he moved forward. Raphael's eyes widened as Alphonse's warm lips pressed against his, desperate and trembling. He froze for a moment, and then his hands wrapped more tightly around him, drew him closer as he closed his eyes and kissed him back.  
When the boy pulled back, he tucked his face firmly beneath the warlord's chin, still trembling.  
"T-Thomas…. he h-hurt Thomas… please… h-help him..."  
Raphael caressed Alphonse one last time, longing, and then reluctantly set him down and began to shove aside the dresser blocking the bathroom, all while Luke's weak cries for help rang out within. The priest was knelt over him, a thoroughly blood soaked towel pressed to the wound, and he looked up in desperation when Raphael entered.  
"P-Please, help us."  
The warlord knelt, taking the towel in his hands and applying pressure.  
"Luke, go find some servants--"  
At that moment a clamor arose from the hallway, and a moment later several soldiers slammed into the bathroom, swords at the ready, a few trembling servants hiding behind them. Evidently Alphonse's cries for help had been heard. The men paused as they saw their lord, wondering if they'd just walked in on him having sport in his own way, but Raphael gave them orders before they could gawk further.  
"We were attacked by a traitor. I've taken care of him, but this man is wounded. Some of you go find a healer--you three, take the bodies away to be buried with the others--and you, fetch a stronger guard detail for this corridor."  
Salutes, the men running to do as bidden. Raphael commanded Luke to take over the wound for a moment, slipping back into the main room and cutting Alex's bonds, murmuring to Alphonse--who had been cowering on the far side of the bed near his brother--to get dressed.  
Men returned soon enough, and with them was the tiny old woman who had helped heal Alphonse's ribs. Glaring, she shouldered her way through the crowd, crouching in front of Thomas and pressing a damp cloth over his face. The man had been only half conscious and he slipped fully asleep now, going limp, after which the woman set about disinfecting his wound and stitching it, muttering unpleasantries about the new emperor and his men all the while.  
When Thomas had been tended to she stood, grunting.  
"What weapon did this?"  
Wordlessly Raphael rose, guiding her to the hallway, where Lucian's blade and other weapons had been moved out of reach of the slaves. Despite the cries of the guards she picked the sword up herself, frowning.  
"A dirty weapon wielded by a dirty man, I'm sure. Something nasty might've gotten into the poor boy's blood."  
She dropped the blade carelessly and rummaged through her pouch, withdrawing a pile of dried leaves and shoving them into Raphael's hands.  
"One leaf in one cup of boiling water once a day for two weeks. If you're too lazy to do it ask the poor boy's friends. If he gets worse come see me."  
"...Thank you," Raphael said at length. "Someone else was wounded with that blade; can you treat them as well?"  
"Who?"  
"Your general."  
"Och! Poor Seth! Bet he'd rather be dead. I was happy at eighty until you idiots came along and now I wish I was dead, too! Only good thing about this stupid war is my grandson finally got around to getting married. Well, I'll go see Seth, then, although you fools are going to have to show me where he is."  
She stuck out a hand and a very confused guard took it, casting one last uncertain glance at Raphael before helping the old woman hobble down the hallway.  
With this taken care of Raphael returned to the room, closing the door softly behind himself and fetching Thomas from the bathroom, setting him on the bed. Luke hovered close beside him--sparing glances at Alphonse and Alex to reconfirm they were alright, every so often--while Raphael absently looked nowhere much at all.  
The twins were even now holding each other, sobbing as they held one another. Alex was shaking hard, his breathing rapid, the boy getting his first real taste of the hell that surrounded them. Alphonse, meanwhile, sobbed at how close he had come to living his worse nightmare.  
The boy had not needed Raphael to tell him twice about getting dressed. He pulled the torn robes back onto himself as soon as it became clear they were safe, the fabric torn in places from Lucian's rough movements, and then he had crawled onto the bed with his brother, saying nothing, merely holding him back and sobbing with him.  
But then things had settled down, the guards and medic leaving, Thomas healed up and resting on the bed, the four of them alone with the warlord. He whimpered. For one wretched moment he'd thought...he'd really thought everything was lost, that Raphael would listen to the man and they'd rape him and his brother side by side, and he had regretted not sinking a knife into Alex's chest when he'd had the chance. But now... Now he just stared, even as he clung to Alex, waiting to see what the man would do next.  
It was a while before the warlord stirred. When he did, as expected, it was Alphonse he addressed first.  
"Alphonse... I'm sorry, I never should have left you alone." His voice was a hoarse whisper, strained. He turned then, reached out towards Alphonse--pausing as Alex hissed, looking more than ready to bite off a finger.  
"You've c-changed, haven't you?"  
Raphael turned--they all turned, startled--to Luke. Still staring down at his cousin, silent, it wasn't until he spoke again that they realized he had truly spoken at all.  
"The goblins are trying to save Alex. If you truly care for Alphonse... l-let them go."  
Raphael looked furious, then mournful. He stared at the ground before reluctantly turning to the door--and extending a hand behind himself.  
"Alphonse... come with me. Please."  
"N-no--No!" That was Alex's voice, clinging all the more firmly to his brother, shielding him from the warlord as best as he could. Alphonse whimpered, then pressed forward, nuzzling gently at his brother and speaking quietly.  
"A-Alex... please, it's alright, everything's a-alright," He murmured, mimicking the words his brother had for so long said to him in an attempt to calm him down.  
Alex sobbed and shook his head, if anything holding him even closer. Alphonse reached out and took his head in his hands, making him look at him.  
"I'm fine Alex... you're fine, Luke is fine... T-Thomas will be fine... nothing happened... nothing happened, I'll be alright, please," he murmured, his voice as calm as he could manage.  
Alex sobbed again, but slowly, his hold on Alphonse relaxed, and as his brother slipped free, his cries grew in intensity. Alphonse paused, turning to him, forcing a smile onto his face.  
"Please take care of Thomas... I'll be right back." And with that he turned back towards the warlord, taking his hand without hesitating.  
Raphael's fingers intertwined gently with Alphonse's, and then they were off, down the corridor bristling with guards, out the throne room, through various twists and turns until they approached a door Alphonse wasn't familiar with. What waited on the other side was, however; Alphonse trembled despite his best efforts as he was led out into a green garden.  
Rather than being a part of the main gardens, this one appeared to be an inner courtyard, surrounded on all sides by castle walls, although it was still a pleasantly large space. A fountain in the center and a multitude of trees made the air pleasantly cool, the wind bursting with the smell of the many countless beautiful flowers crowded into the place, but none of it mattered much to Alphonse. He could only remember the last time his master had taken him somewhere green.  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry especially for making you fear this place." Raphael said, softly.  
"I was thinking, though... if you like... we could have this one redone just as you like it, and it would be a place only you and your brother and Luke could go."  
Remake the garden? He cared nothing for such things. His worries were elsewhere. Rebuilding an entire garden like this one, would take weeks--would only have any purpose if him and the others were to stay and see it for long--weeks, months, years. He had known all along that the warlord would never relent his hold on him, still he had hoped...  
He had told the others countless times that he was not free--could never be free, could feel as if the warlord had a hold upon his very soul even then. He had been right. And now he had dragged the others along with him...  
"I...I like it the way it is... the garden... it reminds me of home..." He lied quietly. It reminded him of the warlord's body grinding him harshly against the bark of a tree, of tears, sweat, and broken ribs.  
As Luke had said, the warlord had changed. But so had he. If the man wanted to pretend he was kind and loving, that he cared about him, then let him pretend all he wanted. He would gladly keep him happy, as long as that kept his hands away from his brother and the others. But more importantly, as long as it kept the other demons of the sand from getting their paws on his brother and the others.  
Raphael hesitated, like a child uncertain of what to do. His eyes strayed to the rooftops and then down again to the garden. It was like a whole different world, where water could be wasted and the sun was not an enemy. Like a dream. As strange and exotic and wonderful as the boy who had come from it.  
His fingers tightened slowly around Alphonse's.  
"I won't touch your brother or companions. Or let anyone touch them. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I will keep my word."  
The warlords eyes moved from the green to Alphonse.  
"Asmodeus thought I would have already... but I won't."  
Again to the rooftops he looked, again at Alphonse. His voice was soft and oddly timid.  
"I know you do not love me. I know why you can never love me. But could you... pretend? I have no one left. No one in all the sands..."  
He shuddered as the thought of Lucian's bloody body filled his mind.  
"Please... let me pretend, one last time... that someone could love me."  
For a long moment the boy remained quiet. Raphael shuddered, untangling his fingers from Alphonse's own.  
The blond intertwined his fingers more firmly with his.  
"I... you saved me... me and the others... I-I thought..." He felt Alphonse trembling by his side, and without looking at him, he knew he was on the verge of tears.  
"T-thank you..." He did not move from where he stood, but Alphonse walked forward, standing before him, looking up at him.  
"...You really have changed, haven't you?" A soft whisper, the boy letting go of his hand, fingers curling instead in his robes, pulling at him as he stood on the tip of his toes to reach him. Soft and warm, the blond's lips pressed against his, sweeter than he remembered him ever being, trembling little body pressed trembling against his own.  
The game the warlord wanted to play with him had not changed much at all. But this time, Alphonse knew how to play it.  
The man's arms closed around him as if he was the last living thing in all the emptiness. His lips sought his own--trembling as much as he--and even when they tasted of desperation there was a tenderness in them that had never been there before. Alphonse's body relaxed slowly in his hold, simply resting in his arms, until at length Raphael lay him down in the soft green grass beneath the shade and began to undress him.  
When the boy lay naked, beautiful, like white gold, Raphael looked upon him and wondered why he looked so different. Realized, with a hot guilty shame like bile, that he was neither bruised nor shaking, and that the cruel piercings had been removed from his flesh. Raphael stooped before him, trembling, and kissed the side he had wounded.  
"I'm sorry."  
His chest.  
"I'm sorry."  
His sex.  
"I'm sorry."  
The man straightened, wiping at his eyes, but then pressed himself carefully down over Alphonse, kissing him anew. But one of his hands caressed leg and thigh, sliding up, stroking his manhood--but so soft, so gentle, one finger at a time tracing warm shivers of pleasure through his skin. It did not feel like the possessive, aggressive touches of the Raphael he knew. It was timid, cautious, like the first caresses of a virgin to his lover.  
It reminded him of Asmodeus.  
Alphonse closed his eyes, fingers curling more firmly into the warlord's clothes as his body arched softly into his caresses, moaning quietly into his lips.  
For Raphael, it felt as if he was truly bedding the boy for the first time. He remembered Alphonse's body always remaining stiff against his, the boy wincing away from his touches, trembling for all the wrong reasons. Even when pleasure managed to override his senses, his movements were stiff and restricted. Even his voice had changed.  
His moans sang a different song than he remembered, the fear and pain gone from his voice, leaving only the pleasure behind. His body moved fluidly with his caresses, pressing more eagerly into his soft touches when the warlord touched him in a way that pleased him, slowly teaching him how to pleasure him.  
Encouraged by Alphonse's movements, Raphael grew bolder--only to hesitate when Alphonse shrunk away from him, unhappy. The warlord resumed a softer touch then, was rewarded anew with the boy's sweet cries. Raphael held that pace, so different from his own preference, hand ghosting over Alphonse's flesh until he had risen hard against his fingers, breathing rapid, sweet little sounds leaving his lips.  
Raphael straightened then, bracing himself with both arms and kissing the boy's stomach, his hips, his inner thighs, until at last he kissed his small hardness and began to suckle--again gentle, so gentle, yet Alphonse responded more strongly than he ever had to rough sex, crying out and pressing his shaft willingly into his mouth, fingers clutching at the soft sweet grass before they moved instead to hold his hair. Those little hips moved in time with the powerful movements of the warlord's throat, until at last, breath quick and voice broken, Alphonse came between his lips.  
When he had lapped away all of the boy's creamy seed Raphael loosed his own erection, rubbing himself with salve from his pocket before moving gently atop the boy. He nuzzled him as they aligned, but did not immediately enter.  
"I love you, Alphonse."  
Oh, he felt the boy tense at that. Raphael's hands curled wretchedly hard into the soil.  
"I know I have said those words to you many times and not meant them, even when I thought I did. But I truly, deeply mean them now."  
Skin traced over skin, both feeling the heartbeat of the other, Raphael tracing more than saying the words upon his lips.  
"I love you, Alphonse."  
And then he kissed him, and entered him, and it was all more gentle than anything he had ever done before.  
The boy muffled yet another moan against his lips as he entered him, arms wrapping around him, legs spreading lightly to accommodate his weight atop him, his heat inside him. Soft thighs rubbed gently against the warlord's hips as Alphonse's hips moved with his.  
Alphonse was soft and warm around him. His flesh tight, yet unresistant. For the first time since he'd bought him, the boy truly moved with him as one. Not like a puppet to sate his desires, or like a drunken whore moving simply in instinct, or as a frightened thing trying to hide away from his touch. It was a dance he'd never danced with him... or with anybody else.  
Raphael's pace slowly hastened, the warlord pushing himself deep into the soft thing beneath him. But he was always careful to remain gentle with him, following the cues that Alphonse's body gave him through cries and shivers, through the tightening of his warm flesh around him. He moved not in the way his own cock cried for him to, but in the way that made Alphonse cry more beautifully in response.  
Slowly, a name built up inside him, rising up his chest, to his lips. Alphonse bit it down, closing his eyes shut. He pulled Raphael closer then, tucking his face against his neck as fingers curled into his robes, the boy pushing himself more firmly against the other, panting.  
"R-Raphael..."  
The boy crying his name made him shake like nothing ever had. It was not the first time, but it was the first time it didn't feel forced. The first time he had so willingly accepted his embrace and responded to it.  
He kissed him, over and over, and it took all his restraint to rock his hips only as gently as the boy would like. The heat stirred for the first time more in his chest than between his legs. Soon he was whispering, then speaking, then crying it out in love and wonder, the boy's name over and over, the sweetest he had ever heard.  
"Alphonse, A-Alphonse... Alphonse--"  
The boy arched, intentionally taking him deep, his voice more lovely than the birds that sang, his body more pleasurable than paradise itself. The little blonde came against the strong muscle of Raphael's stomach, and at his body's rhythmic tensing Raphael came too, hips pressed tight to hips, filling him with the same pleasure that even now made the lights dance and burst before his eyes.  
"Alphonse... I love you..."  
Quiet. The two lay there in the embrace of the warm grass, the fountain spray cool on their flushed skin, Raphael rolling slowly to his side and taking the boy with him, stroking his back, softly.  
There was a faint scratching noise from the rooftops, too subtle for Alphonse to hear. Raphael closed his eyes. He pulled Alphonse suddenly close, a shuddering embrace, and then released him and stood, pulling off his outer robe and draping it over Alphonse's shoulders.  
"I was hoping you'd come."  
A rising hiss from the roof tops, and Alphonse looked up in shock to see dozens of goblins perched there, encircling. Raphael frowned.  
"How do I know you won't sell him again?"  
"We wouldn't have fought with your big dumb army over something as shallow as money!"  
"Well, actually--"  
The first speaker elbowed the other hard, making him squeak and nearly slip off his mount.  
"So you will take him home? And the others?"  
"Yes, we will."  
"Then I will bring them."  
"Don't try anything funny, dog, or else!"  
A raucous clamor from the rooftops which ceased only when the main speaker hastily shushed the others. Raphael looked down at Alphonse for a minute before turning, returning to the castle and leaving him there.  
Two of the goblins scurried down then, their ungainly mounts squawking and flapping their ratty wings, approaching Alphonse and spreading out a thin sling of rope between the two for him to sit on.  
Alphonse stood there, blinking.  
...What?  
The man had known and yet... he had made him do this one last time, filled him with his filth one last time, after he had spent so long clean from him.  
He closed his eyes and shuddered, stepping forward and away from the goblins.  
He reached his discarded clothes, began putting them on--pausing to clean himself up with the warlord's robe before discarding it, finished covering himself with his clothes.  
He turned towards the pair of goblins that had come for him, whimpered, his eyes straying towards the door, which even now remained closed.  
"I won't go, not until my brother gets here..."  
It seemed an hour before the door opened again, but when it did, Alex ran out--to his brother, clutching him, shaking, even as he looked up in joy at the familiar masks of the goblins. A moment later Luke came out, supporting Thomas--and Raphael helping him. All three had light packs of food and water and clothes for Alphonse and medicine for Thomas.  
Luke stared at them in awe and anxiety and at last spoke.  
"T-Thomas is wounded--"  
One of the goblins shook their hand dismissively.  
"Don't worry, heathen, we have a way to move him."  
Luke went quiet at that, remembering the small bird drawn wagon he'd been kept in when they'd stolen him to sell. How strange, that the way to home was the way they had left it.  
Two extra pairs of birds hopped down, forming slings for Luke and Thomas, but for Alex a single larger than usual bird was sent. It squawked in delight when it saw him and rubbed against him, and Alex stroked the ugly face before clambering on. Then they were all going up, clawed feet sinking into the smallest cracks in the stone walls, muscled legs striking out, wings straining, until the whole ungainly crowd stood atop the walls.  
And still Raphael stood there, looking at them all. No. Looking at Alphonse.  
Alphonse looked down as he felt one of the goblins place something in his hands.   
A pipe with a single dart.  
A sea of masked faces staring at him, wordless, and Raphael below looking up. He looked, for once, both sad and small.  
His eyes met Alphonse's.   
He waited.  
For a long moment the boy stared, at the pipe in his hand, at the man beneath them. His hands curled around the small cylinder, a frown on his face.  
"…Did you really mean it? That you really love me?"  
"Yes."  
Raphael gritted his teeth hard and looked to the ground in disgust.  
"When I lost you... at first, I thought I missed what I had made you. Something broken. But as time went on... as I was alone... I realized what I missed was something else. Something I had tried to kill. The quiet, gentle boy who offered himself to protect a stranger, who fought even when he couldn't win, who was willing to return to the man he hated and face certain hell to spare his family the chance of having to face the same."  
The desert wind rippled through their hair, a warm touch, like a memory. One of sorrow and pain. Raphael lifted his face again.  
"I know I have no right to love you. Not when I have hurt you so much. Not when I have rejected every chance to get to truly know you. Yet I love you all the same, even if only in the shallow, selfish way someone like me can."  
Again their eyes met, and Raphael spoke, his voice calm.  
"Kill me."  
Alphonse shook, his frown deepening. He gripped the pipe all the more firmly—pausing as a silver glint on his hand caught his eye. Ah, he had never given it back.  
"…Killing you is not enough… after everything you've d-done." His eyes met Raphael's, fierce for the first time in many months.  
"You tore up this city while telling yourself you were doing it to live, that you were doing it for me… if you're ready to forfeit your life… if you really love me, than fix what you've done! Give this kingdom back to the emperor!"  
Betray the woman who had aided him. Send more of his men to die needlessly.  
The warlord inclined his head.  
"It will be done."

As the day wore on, Seth found his health steadily starting to crawl in reverse.  
The throbbing in his wound became constant, a line of fire in his skin that seemed to creep into his veins as well. Fever sweat stood on his skin even when the cabin was cool and moist. He began to lapse once more in and out of consciousness, and his spells were more frequent, longer lasting.  
For better or worse, however, he tended to be conscious when the pirates checked on him, and for better or worse he feigned being well well enough that they didn't approach him to feel the heat on his skin. In his lucid moments he wondered whether it was better to slip quietly into death or live a slave and fight always for freedom, as he once had, so many years before. That was his usual verdict, but before he could resolve to call for help, Lucian's sneering face appeared in his mind and sudden doubt and then unconscious again, and when he awoke he hardly remembered the conclusion he'd come to before and made the argument to himself all over again. That was how he was now, pulling his head up off the sweat soaked pillow, just about reaching the point where he resolved to call out.  
He didn't have to. He caught a blurry flash of red, a hand pressing against his forehead, angry yelling that made him wince all around him.  
The yelling paused at that, and the red grew nearer, until he was actually able to distinguish Maeve's face.  
"Seth you silly thing, you can't die on me before I fuck you!"  
Her hand affectionately brushed his hair, and then was gone. He closed his eyes and fell unconscious once more.  
He woke up to her voice again, a throbbing on his back, discovered he had been lain on it.  
A hand slipped beneath his head, tilting it upwards, a cup pressed to his lips.  
"Drink, pet." He was too tired to resist, and as the cup was slowly and carefully tilted forward, he swallowed sip by little sip, grimacing at the bitter taste.  
She had him drink the whole thing, then settled his head carefully back down against the pillow.  
"Does it hurt love? Would you like me to make it go away?" All he could think was about the awful pain in his back and hand. He opened his eyes, stared blankly at the ceiling.  
"Y-yes."  
She stroked his hair again, then got up and left him. He closed his eyes and drifted away.  
He woke up to the scent of smoke, like incense, drifting to him from nearby. But more importantly, he woke up to the pirate removing what little of his clothes he still had on.  
Seth shuddered, closing his eyes and sinking against the matress, wincing at the pain that sent through him.  
Something wet and cold pressed gently against his forehead. A towel, washing away the sweat that had slicked his entire body.  
The woman carefully washed him where he lay, helping to fight the burning in his skin, her movements soft and soothing and as he lay there with his eyes closed, he began feeling as if he was laying on a boat, under the shade of a large palm tree, the sea beneath him rocking him gently, the breeze cool against his skin...  
His eyes snapped open, back arching slightly, but strangely he felt no pain, just a dull throbbing, his skin tingling, and a powerful, pleasant heat radiating between his legs, even though the cloth held to his skin was cold.  
Maeve pressed a hand lightly to his chest, gently pressed him back down against the bed to keep him from arching, purred happily.  
"Careful dear, very careful. I know it feels good, but the wound is still there even if the pain is not."  
Her hand stroked his cock again, squeezing him through the wet cloth while her other hand gently glided over his chest.  
"A great general and a beautiful man... the world would suffer too great a loss if you were to die dear, so hold on tight; you might find it enjoyable~"  
It was the smell that got him. The incense crawled up his nostrils like a worm, no amount of flicking his head chasing it out, the smoke curling around his mind and making everything go hazy. No, that wasn't right. It made everything go brighter. He felt more alive than he ever had and yet not alive at all.  
His own voice whispered in multiple places in and around his head.  
She's doing something to you!  
She's going to rape you, you know.  
Stop the smoke!  
I can't get away even if I fight.  
You have to fight her!  
Panic. His pupils opened wide like night and his heart and breath raced. And then sweet cold, wet cloth was touching his fevered skin and his mind drifted off to paradise. How lovely... how long had it been since he'd been able to rest like this, with the breeze on his face and the sway of water beneath him...  
Then she touched him.  
He snapped up but his mind was still gone. The noise left in its place told him different things now. He had to fight her, stop her! Why? Because she's my enemy, of course. Why was that again? He was a general, not a great one like she said, because he'd lost. He was her slave now. He had to run.  
She stroked him again and he whimpered and trembled all over with pleasure. No one had ever touched him before. He had been so busy with his training. It felt wonderful, like a fire that gave warmth but didn't hurt. He looked down his naked skin as she slid the wet rag up and down the source of his bliss, around it, under it, soft slow squeezes and sensual rubs. His cock slowly swelled and rose, upright and twitching in her hand. Was that his body? He didn't feel attached to it. Maybe it was a dream then? He arched again--tried to--but her hand held him gently down even as her stroke drew another groan from him. Right; he wasn't supposed to move, he was wounded. It had been because of her and the others. He stared fixedly at her in what was meant to be a snarl but quickly became dazed entrancement. Her hair was so bright! It was lovely, exactly the same shade as he imagined the fire between his legs and within his gut would have been if he could see it.  
"You're beautiful," he said in slow wonder. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."  
"Oh love, you really flatter me~" she purred, carefully crawling atop the bed, leaning forward, her sweet breath washing over his face.  
"You're one of the prettiest things I've seen too..."  
She moved forward, pressed her lips to his, grinning as she felt the cute little general shiver beneath her and kiss her back. Oh man, she couldn't wait to try this out on the emperor too~  
The pirate's caresses grew firmer, bolder as she realized the general could take him, thoroughly enjoying his cries of pleasure, his clumsy little kisses--the way he even sought her kisses all by himself! Awww~  
She was so sweet. She was the best thing he'd ever tasted. Was he in heaven? He didn't know, but it felt like it.  
He sought out her lips, hungry for them, crying sadly when her hand kept him from lurching forward to reach her, then moaning as she pressed back against him, squeezing his length yet again. And then the fire was all around him, in him, enveloping him from head to toes. Was he in heaven now?  
She held and squeezed him until he had released every last drop of his seed onto the wet towel, then let it drop down onto the bucket of cold water she had brought with her.  
"Did you like that love?"  
"Y-yes."  
"Would you like more?"  
He looked up at her in awe.  
"P-please... please make it feel good again."  
She grinned, leaned forward and kissed him again.  
"Well if you ask that nicely..."  
Her hands left him--but only briefly, undoing her pants and tugging them down as she carefully straddled his waist, rested a hand on each side of his head, her hair a cascade of bright red enveloping her beautiful bright face. Two bright blue stars shone down on him.  
"Just remember...you asked for it~"  
Slowly, she pushed her hips down, and inch by inch, his warm cock pushed deep into her.  
Oh, how the poor dear arched at that, taut as a string, crying out in bliss! She had to pin him to keep him from moving so--and then she had to press strongly against his hips, to keep the sweet dear from thrusting madly, desperately into her.  
"Shhh, love, remember your wound. Nice and gentle for now, okay~?"  
What wound? Oh--the one on his back. He'd almost forgotten about it. He could barely feel it any more. The horrible pain was gone, replaced by a pleasure every bit as strong. It was such a complete reversal of sensation that his mind was totally overwhelmed by it. He cried out in protest, certain he could move just fine, but she held firm in her restraint and forced him to buck only softly into her. It felt as wonderful as she looked, like light was bursting before his eyes in red and blue, a warm wet strong squeeze around his shaft the likes of which he had never felt before. He had never felt anything like it before. This was bliss beyond comprehension, and all he wanted was more of it.  
He tried to move his arm--found it wouldn't respond--oh, yes, he was injured, he kept forgetting--instead threw his other arm clumsily around her, drawing her as close as he could without being able to use his hand. He kissed her hungrily, desperately, needing her taste as much as he needed her body.  
"You feel so g-good."  
Maeve purred, long and slow, and kissed him back.  
Wasn't there some reason he wasn't supposed to be doing this? He couldn't remember, dismissed the thought altogether as another wave of ecstasy rolled through him. He ground his hips hard to hers, more helpless than an addict, as his body began to slick with sweat for reasons that had nothing to do with fever.  
Maeve was delighted with her results of her little experiment. She had used these herbs before, and found it pleasing how they heightened her own pleasure. But what it had done to the beautiful general's mind... That she hadn't quite expected. She would have to use it on the emperor too~ Damn, she might even find it to be useful with that dumb tall blond slave she had bought, who knew. But that would come later, and she wouldn't distract herself with dreams of tomorrow when her present was already sweet enough.  
Her movements were slow and careful, yet pleasant for the both of them, the pirate driving his cock deep inside her, grinding against him and--Seth moaned loudly once more as she felt her body squeezing him tightly, as if wanting him even deeper in. He wanted to be deeper inside her, to go as far as could be gone, her own moans and laughter an exciting melody reverberating around him.  
She moved back, then forced herself back down on him, fast and hard, letting out a moan of delight, every muscle in her body contracting. Despite her hold on him he arched deeper into her, eyes wide, the world a twist of beautiful colors enveloping him, warm and cold and soft all at the same time.  
Once his release was done she rested against him, panting softly as she watched him, letting his cock slowly go soft inside her. When it was done, she pulled back, leaning forward to kiss him again.  
"That's a good boy~"  
In the wake of pleasure Seth thought he was drifting off to sleep again. The slow contractions of his muscles were rhythmic, a lullaby, and he was back on a boat in the soothing breeze once more. Then she kissed him and the sweetness made him stir slightly, the general lapping at her lips, eager for the taste. And then suddenly ravenous--but in a different way.  
"I'm hungry. Is there food...?" He inquired, pushing himself up on his good shoulder and half turning on the bed, looking sadly out into the room as if disappointed to not find a banquet awaiting. Before Maeve could reply to that, however, her eyes widened and abruptly narrowed at the sight of red smeared against the sheets. She pushed him farther to his side--very gently--to find that some of the stitches had snapped loose, torn apart by the stresses of fitful spasms and muscles tensing.  
Maeve sighed.  
"Hold still dear, You'll have your food very soon," She cooed, flipping him entirely onto his belly so that his wound was facing upwards. She called for one of the guards, instructed them to bring Seth food and water, a clean cloth and clean water, and then turned back to the general and began fixing his stitches, taking advantage of his current state.  
The guard returned shortly after, placing a tray on the nightstand and a bucket at her feet. Maeve gently smacked Seth's ass when he tried to reach the food with a useless hand, told him to be patient as she cleaned and bandaged his wound all over again. With this done she pulled her pants back up and walked over to a nearby chair, pulling it towards the bed and sitting down, placing the tray on her lap.  
Seth tried to move towards the food and she chastised him for it, told him he must be good and stay still while she fed him.  
"Now say ah~" she purred, watching the cute little thing open his mouth as she fed him a spoonful of soup.  
The young general went through the bowl as if he'd been starving months instead of a short two days. And then another. And then another--no, Maeve wouldn't let him, cooing and stroking his hair as he cried out piteously.  
"No love, two is enough, you can have more later."  
Two most certainly wasn't enough. He felt as ravenous as if he hadn't eaten at all. And on top of that his back was aching again due to the new stitches. Not nearly as strongly as it would feel once the smoke wore off, but enough to make him uncomfortable. And hunger and pain were both a very unpleasant difference from how he'd been before.  
He twisted his head to look at her, pleading.  
"Can you... can you make the lights come b-back?"  
She blinked, but understood as he made a weak effort to roll again to his back, revealing his half-hard cock.  
"Right now it h-hurts... it always hurts lately... but you made it stop, and you make it feel good, so good, good like I thought I was dying because it couldn't be r-real."  
And that made Maeve very happy. She smiled lovingly down at him, reaching out with a hand to carefully cup his face, softly stroking the skin of his cheek with her thumb.  
"You really should be resting love, but you make it so hard to resist when you ask so nicely… tell you what, I'll make you feel good again if you promise to behave and stay very still, alright?" He whimpered and nodded eagerly, rolling to his back with her help.  
She set the tray back down on the nightstand, then stood up and sat down on the bed beside him. Seth shivered and whimpered as her hand reached out, slowly, settling on his thighs and slowly stroking upwards, until it had finally reached the spot between his legs. Her fingers glided gently up his cock, then slowly back down again. Her eyes were set on his.  
"Like this love?"  
"Y-yes—but more!" She quickened the rhythm to which her fingers moved, but still did not apply much pleasure.  
"Like this?~"  
"M-more!" Her hand wrapped lightly around him, gave him a gentle squeeze. He wriggled.  
"P-please more…"  
"Very well, if you really want it that much…"  
She squeezed him—had to remind the poor overwhelmed little thing to keep his promise of not arching as she began squeezing him softly, stroking up and down.  
The haze returned to him, the pain pushed to the back of his mind by something stronger, something better. But something was different this time. He opened his eyes as her other hand settled on his thigh, began stroking upwards like her first hand had—and then down, a single wet finger pushing slowly deep inside him.  
Her first touch had felt so right, so intuitive, as if his cock had been designed to fit in her hand. But this? It felt strange, invasive, but more than that it brought a disturbing thought to his mind. Something frightening. He hadn't wanted this, because--  
He started viciously, Maeve pulling her hand free at his powerfully negative response, but he wasn't looking at her. Heart pounding, eyes wide, he hissed hatefully into the darkness of the room.  
"I'll k-kill you, you bastard!"  
Where was he? The dark haired devil who'd struck him down--he couldn't see him, but he had to be there. He was the reason the emperor had been bleeding and filthy when he'd been paraded before them, Seth was sure of it. He'd dreaded his coming and now he was here. But he couldn't see him!  
Seth let out a rising snarl and tried to get to his feet, struggling, either not noticing or not caring about the binding on his leg.  
The door opened then, one of Maeve's guards poking her head in, breathing deep.  
"Oh, choice. Nice view, too. Hey, boss, the new fancy emperor is here to see you, since it looks like a bad time should I tell him to go fuck himself?"  
The pirate seemed to ignore the guard for a moment, instead focusing on Seth. She pushed him firmly back down against the bed, then forcefully claimed his lips, one hand dropping again to squeeze his cock.  
Seth's struggles faltered entirely at that, the general groaning into her lips and arching.  
She pulled back then, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her.  
"Now now love, no struggling. You don't want it to hurt anymore now do you? Of course not, so you're going to sit very still while I go take care of some important business, and if you're a good boy, I'll make you feel good again, alright?"  
Seth whimpered, then nodded softly. She held his face for a moment longer, making sure he'd understood before she let him go, turned back to the guard.  
"Stay here and make sure he doesn't move, I'll be back soon," She murmured, a frown in her face as she exited the room.  
What a useless bastard the warlord had been of late. Getting all fussed over a slave, losing his head to the point of not thinking clearly, making her do all the real work in the conquest, giving her poor payment in bed--and now this! Interrupting right when she was having such a great time--  
She was glaring as she stormed out on to the deck, more than ready to give him a piece of her mind, but she paused as she saw him already kneeling respectfully. Well, that was a start.  
He bowed his head more deeply to acknowledge her presence.  
"I apologize, Maeve. I requested a favor of you and then didn't honor it well. I... let myself get more distracted then I intended. Would you grant me the mercy to try again?"  
The frown vanished from her face almost instantly at his words, despite her best attempts to keep it there. How could she, when the hot little warlord came groveling at her feet all on his own accord~? It wasn't like she could have much more fun with Seth either way, and she had already patched his wounds and fed him.  
She crossed her arms over her chest even as she grinned down at him.  
"I don't know if I could, you were very rude, you broke our deal… how could I ever trust you again?" She purred, moving her foot forward, letting the tip rest between his legs and rubbing.  
Raphael shivered at her contact, but only slightly. To his seasoned body it was more excitement at the promise of what that touch could bring then arousal at the current one.  
"Anything you want me to do on this ship I'll do. To you, to your slaves... even if it means being nice to your pet emperor," he added, unable to completely drown a grimace.  
Slowly his hands ran up the leg caressing him, teasing as he was teased, leaning forward to gently kiss her skin.  
"Please... my empress."  
Maeve grinned.  
"Drop your weapons~"

At first she did not know where she would take him. Would she make him suck Asmodeus' dick? Maybe ride the cute little blond slave? Or the tall hot one… or maybe even Seth. So many possibilities!  
But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that as much as she wanted to see him fucking and being fucked, she wanted even more to be fucked by him. In the end she decided that what she really wanted was to be fucked hard and raw, the way none of her current slaves could do.  
She pushed him to the bedroom, her hands and lips already on him before they had even gotten in, closing the door behind herself.  
He was on her bed in a second, the pirate clambering atop him, tugging at his pants and grinning down at him.  
"I hope you're hungry~"  
"Starving."  
He pressed close, graced her ear with his tongue, hands working busily at her own clothing once more. In what must have been near record time both had stripped bare, Raphael lying comfortably against the bed while she clambered atop him, mouths to sexes.  
"It appears our slaves aren't quite satisfying either of us. Unfortunate, isn't it?"  
Maeve responded around a mouthful of his cock.  
"Very."  
Raphael leaned in to return the favor, nuzzling and lapping at her wet heat--pausing as a few drops of hot white slipped from her to land on his face.  
"Seems you've been having some fun without me, though. Asmodeus?" His voice became rapidly sour at that last; how much he wanted to snap the bastard's neck, when really he had come to...  
Maeve didn't outright answer, instead pressed herself more fully against him, riding his face as she gave his cock a hungry suckle, gripping and passaging his heavy sacs with her hand at the same time. Only when she had coaxed a muffled groan of pleasure from the warlord did she answer.  
"I wish~ But I must let the poor old dear rest. His general on the other hand, was very happy to see me..." She purred, lapping the man's cock affectionately.  
"Oh? Broke him quick, didn't you?"  
As he spoke, Raphael continued to work. Maeve was the first woman he'd made love to since... well, since getting Alphonse, but that didn't mean he'd forgotten his old tricks. His tongue slipped deep inside wavy folds, cleaning away Seth's seed without a hint of shame, and when that was done he slid a finger in to take his tongue's place, teasingly light as he moved to suckle the red little nub that really drove her wild. She arched wonderfully, the warlord clasping a hand to the lovely globes of her rump to keep her that way, working harsher now--then pausing, frowning, even as he grunted in pleasure at her suckles.  
"If we--were to--marry--how would I know you were bearing my children--and not his?"  
Really? He was going to stop now? The warlord kept being annoying of late, but she was too hungry to send him away again. Instead she lifted away from him, turning and straddling his hips, grinding herself against his wet cock without taking him in her.  
"Really Raphael? In all these years I have never mothered any children for the beautiful bastards I've bedded... why would I start now?" She purred, pressing particularly harshly against him at that. The warlord groaned and arched in pleasure, closing his eyes and gripping her hips.  
She lifted herself only very slightly, letting the head of his cock nuzzle gently at her entrance. Raphael's eyes opened as she cupped his face, stroking his cheek and smiling sweetly down at him.  
"I would be all yours love~ I'd only hunger for you, think of you, only have you inside me..." The sweetness in her voice vanished then, replaced by mischievousness as she grinned down at him. A moment later she dropped down, taking him into her in one swift, firm movement, arching. Raphael felt her warm body squeezing him tight, as if trying to draw him in deeper still than what he could go.  
Maeve closed her eyes and enjoyed that feeling for a long moment before she spoke again, voice breathy.  
"...I would... but you'd rather make your cute little slave an empress... so our children shall not be."  
Raphael laughed at that, even as he took a firmer grip on her thighs, thrusting in time with her rhythm.  
"I'm starting to think you'd be a better choice, but now that you're lying I'm uncertain again. "Only me inside you?" Really, Maeve? I think we know each other too well for that."  
She purred down at him, riding the movements of his hips with ease.  
"You insult me emperor, I am a woman of my word. I would be yours and only yours... until we were certain the child I carry is yours of course~"  
Far from looking irate, Raphael laughed again.  
"You're a snake, Maeve. That must be why you and Asmodeus get along so well."  
She, too, looked flattered rather than annoyed, and as a further sign of her approval gave no resistance when Raphael abruptly moved to switch positions, pulling her down on to her stomach before getting atop her and sheathing himself, hips grinding hard together. His hands, meanwhile, made themselves busy too, one cupping her breasts, one stroking her heat. Raphael growled into her ear as his tempo grew fiercer.  
"And would the queen of the sea really give up her domain for me? Stay here all dusty and dry with a dog when she could be out free upon the waves?"  
Instead of answering she reached back, her fingers curling into his soft silver hair, pulling him closer as she twisted around enough to claim his lips with hers hungrily.  
Their pace hastened wordlessly, no sound other than that of their moans and harsh breath echoing inside that room, the sound of bodies rubbing against one another.  
Maeve pressed hard against him one last time, arching beneath him and moaned. His teeth sank into the nape of her neck as he pushed back against her, hands gripping her firmly, tightly against him.  
When their climax had passed, the woman twisted around in his grip, pressing their lips together, hungry yet tenderly. Her hand rested over his chest as she leaned in close against him, to whisper back in his ear.  
"The sea won't go anywhere, but we will."  
Raphael pressed in close in turn, breath as soft as the breeze off calm water.  
"And wherever we go, you will be the finest pearl within this sea of sand."  
Lips met, slow, only to turn quickly again to dark and bestial hunger, their bodies longing for so much more than their falsely tender words promised, the two rutting like animals for long hours into the night.  
When they at last collapsed, exhausted and beaded with sweat, Maeve resting against his strong chest and Raphael with both arms thrown jealously around her, he spoke quietly.  
"I'm sorry for earlier. I was blinded by foolish dreams. I know Alphonse will never love me. And Lucian..."  
He closed his eyes.  
"...Lucian is lost to me. But you, Maeve... I know you will never betray me. Our alliance will conquer everything between the mountains and the water. So, Maeve..."  
He opened his eyes again, looking down at her.  
"Will you marry me?"  
She grinned up at him, drawing closer, her lips parting ever so slightly. He moved to kiss her back, but her lips never pressed to his. Instead she paused by his ear, whispering playfully.  
"I'll think about it~" and with that she laid back down against him, closing her eyes and humming softly as she rested her head against his warm chest.  
Raphael huffed, although he supposed her instantly accepting the offer would be more surprising.   
"If you won't come along, then... might I have Prince? I know before I said I was content to leave him with you, but in retrospect it would be nice to have one slave who actually desires my presence. You can have your pick of the city's jewels in return."  
She did not bother opening her eyes to answer, simply cozying up all the closer to him and purring.  
"Sorry love, but the little prince has taken quite a liking to him, and I did promise to Asmodeus I would keep him happy."  
She did open her eyes then, looking seductively up at him, provocative even while exhausted.   
"Besides, the city is not so far away, if you find yourself in need, my doors are open~"  
Raphael simply let out a low sigh in answer. He would have liked to remove Prince before everything began, but... so be it. His loyalty was to another, so no matter what Maeve might threaten towards the unfortunate jewel, it would not change his mind.  
It was with these treacheries on his thoughts that he began to drift off... only to snap awake as angry yells and a high raspy shriek emanated from the hallway.  
Maeve jumped up, grabbing her sword and nothing else, and Raphael followed after more modestly pulling on his pants. It didn't sound as if anyone was dying, yet, and that meant he could spare a moment. Especially when Maeve had left him no weapon.

When he emerged into the hallway, he found the situation was indeed more comedic than dire. It seemed the old healer and her escort had only just arrived, and the former was howling at the guards keeping her from Seth's room, actually kicking at them with her tiny feet while Raphael's soldiers and Maeve's argued back and forth.  
As if she had eyes in the back of her head, the woman whirled around at their approach, and it took only one look at Maeve for her to start shrieking even louder, wagging her finger aggressively towards her.  
"You nasty, nasty lady! This ship stinks of sin! You should be ashamed of yourself! No good rotten pirates and their--"  
Raphael grimaced.  
"Oh, Maeve... this is a healer from the city. She said Lucian's blade might have been carrying some disease, so I sent her along for..."  
"Glad he's dead!" The woman barked, not caring how Raphael stiffened, indeed seeming to relish it. She wagged her finger at him too.  
"Now if only you two could hurry up and die too! Then I wouldn't need to get on with it myself!"  
Maeve turned on him like a bolt, looking fierce even in her nakedness, her sword sharp at his neck, drawing a thin like of blood.  
"Dead—Dead?! And you didn't say a thing, coming into my home with your head bowed—"  
She swiped his legs violently from beneath him with her own, pinning him to the ground, sword held even more closely to his throat as she hissed.  
"Kill them—Guards!"  
There was a scuffle behind her, as Raphael's men and her crew fought, more of them coming forward to help. Raphael's men might have been better, but they were badly outnumbered, and soon their bodies lay on the floor while her crew grabbed the old healer to make sure she didn't try anything. Her eyes spelled disbelief at his betrayal without him saying anything, as if she could read the story right out of his face.  
"You left to make sure he didn't get your little whore—you killed him for a whore—your own brother—have you gone mad?!"  
She moved back as her men surged forward, her breathing rapid.  
"…Tie him up"  
She was gone, leaving him to struggle with her crew as they pushed him down onto the floor with the sheer strength of numbers, drawing his arms behind his back and tying him up.  
He was taken away and thrown into an empty room. It was not long before she returned, fully dressed and with a pair of guards at her back. For a long moment she was silent, only glaring at him, but then finally she hissed.  
"What did he ask for… when he promised to pretend he enjoyed giving you his ass, what did the little slut ask you for!"  
Bound and unarmed he still threw himself towards her, snarling, although with a swift kick she soon had him back against the wall. He pulled himself upright then, looking more savage than even her.  
"I came back and found my guards dead, one of my slaves half dead in his own blood, the others screaming under his naked body--what would you have done?! The very same, if it had been your crew you found slaughtered, your precious Asmodeus limp on the floor and the screaming little prince upon his cock!"  
He spat, vicious as a snake.  
"You and me, Maeve, we kill with a reason--a vile, selfish reason most often, but still a reason. But Lucian! He gave up killing for anything but pleasure long ago. He wasn't my brother any more. He wasn't my lover any more. He was nothing but a monster! And now you, you--you've slaughtered more of my men without even understanding the reason, you stupid bitch!"  
Her sword was aimed at him, and she hissed again, not backing away.  
"Oh I understand, I understand better than you do apparently! Lucian has always been a scoundrel, has always been a murdering, raping brute—and here you are, acting as if it was anything new! As if you were any different."  
She spat, sword still held up at him.  
"And yet he was still your brother, still your lover, still the man you cried for while you were in my arms… so what has changed Raphael." She tilted her head slightly to the side as she watched him.  
"Did he leave for long enough to have loneliness drive you to madness? Did it leave you so weak that a pair of sad eyes looking up at you while he sucked your dick was enough to convince you to betray him—to betray everything you've done, everything you are—he was your brother, and I am a convenient lay and a resourceful business partner, so don't for a second try to fool me into believing you wouldn't betray me as well… so tell me, Raphael, what did the little whore ask for in exchange of sucking your dick."  
Raphael let out a long hiss.  
"He didn't leave--I exiled him. Release me, Maeve. Your sailless ship is surrounded by my men, and they'd rather see their lord die fighting then leave me alive to be your bitch. Half my army is currently around your ships, scrounging for anything left after the fires; ask your guards if you don't believe me," he said, jerking his head towards them. Their discomfort confirmed the story, but Maeve didn't seem to care.  
"What. Did. Your. Whore. Ask."  
At first Raphael only glared at her. But then his lips twitched. His eyes widened. His body trembled. And then he threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed and truly did look mad.  
"You wouldn't like it if I told you."  
She kicked him. Again and again and again. Until he was finally crumpled on the floor at her feet. Her blade found his neck again.  
"I have very, very little patience left for you warlord."  
Slowly, the blade went downwards, until it came to rest gently between his legs.  
"If you remain silent, I will have to assume he asked for my head, the same way you took Lucian's. In that case I might not be able to escape, and neither will you... so, for the last tome Raphael. What did the little slut ask for?"  
Raphael looked considerably more concerned about the blade being at his crotch than his neck, although his sudden sobering didn't stop him from growling at her. Stupid dog. A slightly stronger push from the sword made him talk.  
"He didn't ask for your head. Or Lucian's. I took it for the reasons I said before--"  
The blade sunk deeper, partially because he was still evading the question and partly because that fucking bastard, he had KILLED LUCIAN.  
"He wants the miserable emperor back on the throne."  
He didn't look happy about his own bargain, a further sign in Maeve's eyes of how utterly he'd snapped.  
"I don't intend to kill you, Maeve. If that was my wish I'd have attacked from outside rather than come in. Surrender your slaves to me and leave. Horses and supplies will be made ready for you, or if you really won't leave this stinking ship behind, I suppose we'll see about making some short term sails."  
She kicked him again for that, hissing.  
"I'll have you know this is the best ship in all the seas, thank you very much, and no, I will not leave it behind, and I won't be going away on 'temporary' sails—what idiot would get themselves stranded like that?" She knelt by him, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and pulling him up, glaring into his eyes.  
"What we are going to do is go out there so you can tell your men to fetch me my sails and leave me alone until they do, and then I'll trade you for them, dick and all, so you can go back to raping the little bitch like you used to. And if you don't, you will never fuck anything else at all. Do you understand?"  
Raphael narrowed his eyes.  
"Fine. However. When the sails are delivered, let it be known that I'll have my men bring down this ship in a storm of fire if you try to make off with me, whether I die in the ordeal or not. I gave you my proof that I don't want to kill you. I have no similar proof that you won't enslave me."  
The woman scoffed, dropping him to the floor again. A moment later her foot slammed harshly between his leg, painfully grinding him.  
"You needn't worry about that mutt, I wouldn't touch your traitorous, rotten little cock again if you paid me to."  
She ground him again once more, hatefully, then turned around and began walking away.  
"Bring him."  
Raphael was too busy writhing in pain to give her any back talk on the way to the deck, which was a nice relief. Instead as they passed the halls the only voice was of the old lady healer's, crying out in disbelief from between her guards.  
"He's STILL not dead? You really are a bad, useless lady!"  
At last they arrived on the deck, and with Raphael's disheveled arrival his men, as he had warned, instantly surged forward from the surroundings with shouts of rage. He spoke before Maeve could, spitting.  
"Bring the bitch her sails. If she tries anything, burn the ships."

Within the city, in the remnants of a crumbling temple tower close to the walls, a crowd of masked faces stared out the window. One of them hissed.  
"Well look! I TOLD you he was up to no good and now he's gone and got captured! We should split."  
A second goblin, the one who seemed to rival him for leadership, sighed.  
"As much as I hate to agree with Girik, I kind of agree with Girik."  
Alphonse watched for a second longer, let out a low whimper. The others were right. He had dared to hope, in the deepest parts of his broken heart, that there was still a chance to save the emperor, that he could still push for one more miracle. But his and the others' freedom was miracle enough. His brother's freedom was miracle enough.  
"…I guess you're right," He murmured, looking down.  
His brother was soon by his side, squeezing his hand gently in an attempt to comfort him. He looked up at the others then.  
"Can't we even get there really quick and shoot him at least?"  
"Oh, gee, Alex, I dunno," the first goblin drawled.  
"You're a trained goblin now. A few hundred feet over flat ground, through an army of his loyal supporters, to shoot him to death in daylight. Should be easy, why don't you--"  
The second goblin punched him, hard.  
"Shut up, Girik!"  
"Ow! Fuck you, Mirin, that hurt!"  
"Sorry, Alex, but I don't think we should risk it. We got really lucky finding your brother and then getting you both out again after. I don't think we should test our luck any more."  
"Finally some sense," Girik grumbled, crossing his arms and settling down beside the other goblins scattered throughout the room, most sleeping beside their mounts.  
"Let's move out at dark."  
Luke was sitting nearby, tending to his cousin. A sling ride across bumpy rooftops hadn't been easy on his injured body, and in the end once they'd arrived at their hideout they'd chosen to drug him with their sleeping darts to help ease the pain. He was doing alright since then, and they'd been assured the ride across soft sands would be easier, but Luke still worried.  
Yet he looked up at that, at Alphonse.  
"I... I don't like leaving the emperor behind either... he saved us... he risked himself for us... but I don't think we can save him. Still, there is hope... Raphael went to try, and his men still have the advantage... all we can do is hope, and pray. He has more of a chance than we ever did, and we still managed, didn't we?"  
He gave the other boy a soft, sad smile.  
Alphonse did not look reassured at his words on the least, shuddered again and turned to look out the window once more. For a long moment, they were all silent, but then he spoke again, quietly.  
"I… I tried to save him, I really did… I hope he can still be saved… but if the gods will only let the four of us leave this place… then there is nothing we can do." He closed his eyes, shuddered again, and then spoke too quietly for the others to hear him.  
"If they let us leave at all…"

It felt as if it took an era for night to fall. And then it felt an eternity after that before they slunk, rooftop to rooftop, up to the wall and over and down to the soft sands below. Raphael's men were on alert, but for pirates trying to get inside, not goblins trying to get outside. Their quiet going went wholly unnoticed by anyone, and then they were off across the soft sand sea of the great desert.  
As promised, being dragged in slings across smooth ground was far more enjoyable than bumpy roofs and open air leaps. Indeed, lying back against the fabric as the wind ruffled his hair and the stars blazed high above, Alphonse almost found the feeling pleasant. If only the thought of the man he was leaving behind would leave him. Yet it would not. Asmodeus had given everything to save them, and now...  
Alex was used to traveling with the goblins by now, but as Alphonse and Luke had spent the entirety of their kidnap drugged, the sight that met them was a surprise. Several low set wagons lifted suddenly off the sands, the dusty cloth covering them and their flat build making them blend perfectly with the desert surroundings. Several more of the bird creatures were harnessed to the front of each, and both they and the goblins emerging gibbering from the wagons let out cries of happy delight to see them all safe. Then the travelers had been loaded up--save Alex, who stayed astride his mount--and the whole convoy took off once more, the birds who had been previously pulling taking their rest inside the wagons while the fresher beasts took their turn.  
Luke drifted off to sleep rather quickly. Alphonse, however, lay awake and doubtful. Doubting the choice he had made, doubting the emperor's fate, doubting that he would truly ever reach home again. So much had gone right, but always again it turned on him, as if the gods of that foul hell enjoyed feeding him hope to keep him struggling. It was to these uneasy thoughts that he eventually drifted off, lulled to sleep by the smooth soft lurch of wagon over sand.  
"--OH SWEET ANCESTORS ABOVE!"  
"HOLY FUCKITY FUCK!"  
"I TOLD YOU MIRIN I FUCKING TOLD YOU NOW YOU DID IT YOU MADE THE ANCESTORS ANGRY--"  
"SHUT UP AND RUN!"  
Alphonse jerked awake and so did Luke beside him, both at the screams and at the sudden reversal of direction their wagons undertook--back towards the city. Alphonse threw himself forward, wanting to see, but what met his eyes was not desert raiders.  
It was like--the sand was alive. A huge, surging ripple, like the silhouette of a snake, had risen up from the flat plains and was storming towards them.  
Alphonse could only stare, holding tightly onto the wood of the caravan that held him and the others.  
Really? There was no doubt now, this place was really hell itself, and it seemed another one of its demons had come to make sure they never left it now that Raphael had finally decided to let them go.  
The hysterics of the goblins, meanwhile, had reached almost hilarious dimensions.  
"OH FUCK OH FUCK FORGIVE MIRIN, OH GREAT ANCESTORS, IT'S NOT HER FAULT SHE'S DUMB AND FELL FOR A HEATHEN--"  
"GIRIK IF THOSE THINGS DONT KILL YOU FIRST I WILL!"  
"YOU'RE JUST MAD BECAUSE I'M RIGHT!"  
"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO KEPT BLASPHEMIZING OUR HONORABLE ANCESTORS TO BEGIN WITH YOU BUBBLING IDIOT--"  
Alphonse simply continued to watch. There was no horror, no misery, no disbelief. There was nothing but the dull pull of exhaustion. He had known. He had always known. Why did he keep trying to believe in anything else? Better to just close his eyes and accept the end.  
Something caught his attention.  
There, in the wagon immediately behind his own, a goblin had moved as he had to look back instead of forward. What was more unusual was that he was far larger than any other goblin and that rather than the usual ornate coverings his was a pure simple mask of white.  
"They won't hurt us."  
The goblin lowered himself to his knees, bowing his head even as the wagon continued to jump along and his words sent the goblin leaders into a fit.  
""THEY?!?""  
"NOEL, GET BACK IN THE WAGON--"  
There was a voice.  
A woman's. Soft but strong, like the heartbeat of the river. Alphonse heard it not in his ears but in his mind.  
 _ **Peace, child of green. You have waited so long, but you must wait just a little longer.**_  
The goblins reached the wall at that moment, fled the wagons in a screaming fit and scurried up the wall with their guests and the large goblin in tow, the ungainly birds clawing and flapping their way madly up the fortified stones. Then they were over, landing with a plop upon the streets, and they would have kept running even then if their birds hadn't for some bizarre reason chosen to sit down and refuse to budge, strangely serene.  
It was this stillness that let them see it.  
There was a great roar, a shaking of the earth, and then something that was both a serpent and far more than a serpent arched over the wall. It was pure black save for the azure eyes, thick around as a house, muscled like an ox, scaled and horned and legless. Hundreds upon hundreds of feet passed by overhead before it was fully inside the city, moving at speed southward.   
They all stared, open jawed, too astonished to be any more astonished even when a second such beast, this one pure white and emerald eyed, vaulted the wall to join the other.


	8. Chapter 8

The wait had been long and slow. Fires snapped all around the still ships, archers fingering their weapons, men spitting and only half minding their food, wary eyes always fixed at least in part on the enemy.  
One warrior, particularly close to the ships, was filling in a soldier who had arrived later on from the city station.  
"Oh yes! Lord Raphael came to us the other morning, said that the red haired devil was demanding half of the city in exchange for her trouble. Half! I don't care what she did, that's just greed. So Lord Raphael wouldn't budge of course, on our account, since we need the place more than she does, so he tells us to go about looking for anything left from the fire and be ready to attack when he says so. Decided to put her in her place before she could do anything unpleasant. Which was all very good and all, but then in a bit of soft heartedness he tried to go talk to her again and got captured, which of course you know that at least--"  
Trumpets interrupted him. Several thousand heads looked towards the wall, mystified. The warrior blinked.  
"From the north? There's nothing to the--"  
A massive dark head appeared over the city wall and, slamming down into the sand with a great cloud of dust, thundered towards them.

"Seriously, can you believe that bastard? I should have killed him and made away with you while I had the chance—" The sound of yelling and trumpets interrupted her, and she sat bolt upright.  
After making sure the warlord's men would not try anything, she had had Raphael chained up and thrown into the darkest, deepest room on her ship, to make the rats some company.  
Then she had had all of her crew armed and on edge, eyes always on the enemy while all of her other slaves remained locked in their respective rooms. Except Asmodeus.  
Him she had carried to her room and thrown onto her bed, where she had touched and caressed and kissed and licked and made love to him. And then she had lain by his side holding him.  
And then she had gone and made love to him again and again, until the man could simply not get it up any longer, no matter how much she touched and teased him. It might very well be the last time she had him. Or anyone at all for that matter.  
The time had come, she thought as she got off the bed, pulling on her pants and leaving the room, leaving him tied there.  
When she emerged, she found every single person in her crew simply watching over the ship's rail, some pointing, others just standing there, looking out at the desert.  
She ran forward, pushing them out of the way, and stared as well. All she could see were the giant mounds of sand, racing towards all of them.  
"…Get the cannons…"  
Nobody moved, not even her, but then she stomped her boot on the floor, yelled.  
"Are you all gonna die staring like cowards, or will you fucking die fighting like pirates?! Get me those fucking cannons ready!"  
Her crew seemed to stir at that, and after one last terrified look, they ran to their posts, loading and preparing the cannons to shoot the monsters that were coming for them.  
One of the strangest things was that Raphael's men were not taking up swords, but had for the most part simply thrown themselves prostrate on the ground, bowing before the living sands. The pirates would have thought them cowards, if they had noticed, but as it was they were rather preoccupied.  
With little idea of what they aimed for, they aimed at the sand, and shot. Cannons slammed hard into--something--rolled off it like water off tent canvas, and then the sand stopped. The cause, the great wyrm beneath, reared its head and stared at them, belligerent.  
Most simply stared. But one snapped and, screaming, fired a shot. The beast caught it deftly in its teeth and snapped the metal ball into so much dust.  
No one seemed to have the nerve to try again. The vast green eyes turned towards Maeve, standing on the prow with her hair like fire in the wind, sword in hand, ready to defy the end.  
 _ **You have been weighed and found wanting.**_  
A deep, horrible roar inside her skull.  
A moment later a second wyrm appeared from the sands, gazed upon her aside the first.  
 _ **Slaver, if you are given mercy, will you give it to others?**_  
She had winced at the sound roaring in her head, but she had never looked away. Even now, all she could do was stare—glare at the two beasts, frozen where she stood.  
What the fuck—What the FUCK.  
Mercy? Mercy for who? Had she been drugged, was she hallucinating? Seeing some desert mirage? Why had these two—things, just suddenly appeared before her and her crew—asking for her to… to what? Release her slaves?  
The same thing Raphael had asked for?  
She hoped this was not some fevered vision she was having. Slowly, reluctantly, she lowered her sword, then dropped it.  
"…Fine, you can have them… whoever wants to leave me, may leave."  
The nostrils of the great black beast flared.  
 _ **You will release all your slaves. Your answer is lacking.**_  
Thick lips pulled back over so many teeth. In a heartbeat Maeve crouched, leaping up anew with sword in hand, and her crew found their heads and leaped forward to defend their mistress. They could not win, but they would not die silent.  
The dark beast, however, did not strike. The powerful head curled away, swanlike, and the softer voice of the other, the white, rang in Maeve's mind.  
 _ **Your one virtue is that you treated slaves kindly, and that shall be your one reward. There are many broken slaves within this city know as jewels. Take them. Sell them to those who will treat them gently. Then take slaves no more, nor permit it along your shore.**_  
The soft voice faded, and the black wyrm roared again.  
 _ **Bring forth your slaves.**_  
Maeve glared, sword still held up.  
"Bring every slave to deck—but keep Raphael shackled up. He can wriggle his way out if he wants." A tense, quiet hiss. And as the crew carefully moved to obey, she glared one more time before disappearing below deck as well.  
She went to her room, to Asmodeus, fetching him herself, undoing his bindings and kissing him passionately one last time, her hand running over him. When she let go she shuddered, glared down.  
"You were mine and then giant snakes came to fetch you—seriously? Fucking seriously? Gods…" She began moving back, then hesitated, cupping the old emperor's chin.  
"I do so love seeing you naked, but would you like me to dress you one last time?"   
Looking completely confused and a fair share of startled, the emperor nodded, and with one last smooch to his cheek, she dressed him up herself.  
When she finally emerged from below deck, supporting the emperor, all the other slaves had been taken out. The old healer lady, the wounded General, the crown prince and his lovers, and the other crown prince and his mate. Even Raphael was there, laying chained against the wooden floor where he'd been discarded, as well as a few other slaves she had deemed too important to leave behind at the bay. Amongst them, a young white haired girl, whimpering and cowering where she stood.  
Maeve nuzzled the emperor.  
"You should tell the nasty bad dragons that you really, really want to stay with me, free will and all that~"  
Asmodeus had been staring at the wyrms--the dragons, for that was what they were. He snapped out of his daze at Maeve's words, however, promptly kicked her--squawked and fell over as that upset his own balance.  
The black dragon let out an amused rumble as it and the white dragon inclined their heads.  
 _ **As graceful as always, friend.**_  
Those huge beasts nuzzled him, impossibly gentle, and he simply went limp against them, tears running down his face.  
"You came back... you saved my nephews, my general, my people... Alphonse... thank you. Thank you..."  
The dragons let out soft rumbles of content.  
Most of the assembled others, however, simply continued to gawk. Seth and Raphael were perhaps the only ones who didn't look paralyzed beyond comprehension; the former had covered his naked skin as best he could, staring at the ground, and Raphael, eyes closed, looked at nothing.  
It was the old woman who finally broke the silence.  
"DAMN! Them some big snakes!"  
Asmodeus finally turned around at that, towards Maeve, wide eyed and hellishly grinning.  
"Yes... yes they are. Did you never wonder why, Maeve, I am called Serpent? It's because me and Katrina found these two as eggs, and cared for them... and oh it worked out wonderfully! You're going to eat her, yes? Or, better, let me kill--"  
 _ **No.**_  
"--What the hell do you mean, no?! You have no idea what she's--"  
The black dragon growled deep.  
 _ **Has she committed any sin which you have not?**_  
Maeve, despite her situation, dared to wink. Asmodeus screamed in rage, made a motion to lunge at her--fell short due to his leg and her sword and his long lost nephew's hissing placement of himself between the two of them--turned around and started screaming at the dragons themselves. They said nothing, did nothing, but stared at him with those old eyes until his cries faded away.  
In their absence, a flood came. Thoughts in thousands. All the broken slaves he had seen in the market and passed by, careless, after Katrina was gone. The horrors perpetrated outside his borders that he had paid no mind to except where they concerned his own defense. The men and women he had tortured and executed in shallow wrath and selfish fear.  
Slowly, he sunk to his knees, then hands, head bowed.  
"...No."  
A slow, shaking breath.  
"I have fallen far. I have done unforgivable things. Whatever punishment you give her, give me too."  
Seth cried out, trying to stand, and Ezekiel squealed and fled from hiding behind Claude to cling to his uncle instead, bawling.  
"My lord, no--"  
"You can't eat my uncle! I won't l-let you!"  
Asmodeus remained where he was. One last thought came to him, bubbling out of the dark. Alphonse, wretched and bare before him, kneeling on his order, miserable between his arms as he rutted.   
He had raped Alphonse. And if he had sunken that low sooner, he would have raped Katrina.  
The emperor grit his teeth.  
"Stop, both of you. This is what I deserve."  
Both dragons pressed to him, softly.  
 _ **You carry great sin, but also great sorrow.**_  
 _ **There is no healing in death. But a great deal of healing can be done in life. Rise, dear one.**_ **We** _ **forgive you.**_  
Tears in his eyes, Asmodeus stumbled upward with their help, pressing to them--wrapping an arm around his nephew also, the boy's eyes about popping out of his head at having two draconian mouths so close to his face. But at last the beasts drew away, again rumbling softly.  
 _ **I will mend**_ , said the soft voice.  
 ** _And I will destroy_** , said the deep voice. The black dragon twisted abruptly towards the men still lying scattered reverently around the ship, snarling. Most of Raphael's soldiers didn't move. But a few--the cruelest, the wickedest, the unrepentant--turned and ran, and the great dragon surged after.  
 _ **Come**_ , the white dragon said, soft in all their heads. _**There is work to be done.**_  
After a bit of meaningful staring, Maeve realized she was meant to follow, paced uneasily along after the slow trace of the white dragon, side by side with her once slaves as they all moved to the city. The great beast led them to the castle halls and left all of them there save Maeve, who she led off in another direction with the promise to return. In the distance, meanwhile, they could just catch glimpses of the huge black dragon racing through the city, hunting down each and all of the men Lucian had brought with him.  
"Ah. Well." Asmodeus said after a moment.  
"Let's see if we can't find some servants to take care of you all--"  
It was at this point that Zekey started screaming for his mistress, apparently just now realizing what was being plotted, causing Asmodeus to talk louder over him.  
"Miss, can you tend to Seth once we're inside? Ezekiel, you're alright, go to your room with your guards and be cautious--lead everyone to the rooms near yours--I'll join you in a moment, I'm going to find--"  
The emperor's eyes widened as a troupe of bickering goblins rounded the corner ahead, arguing about the intelligence of listening to a giant dragon telling them to head to the castle.  
"--Alphonse."  
And there he was, the boy for whom he had sacrificed everything. Alphonse saw him as well, froze where he stood, his eyes wide. He stumbled and squeaked as his brother bumped into him, but he paid him no mind. That little push was all he needed, and a moment later his stumble changed to running as he raced forward.  
"E-Emperor!" Tears in his eyes, the boy running into his arms. Asmodeus barely managed to keep his balance as the boy threw himself at him, clinging tightly to his robes and burying his face against his chest as he sobbed.  
"E-emperor! I… I-I thought you w-were lost… b-because of me, and I… I-I'm so g-glad!"  
"Alphonse--Alphonse--"  
He embraced him, hard and tight, wrapping him within his arms. How much he had feared coming back to find him maimed, killed--the warlord might have done anything to him as punishment, given him to Lucian even, yet here he was, safe and whole and free. Somehow he managed to hug him all the closer, rubbing his face in his hair.  
"Shh, s-shh, don't cry, dear one. This would have happened one day or another regardless. I have no regrets. You are safe, my nephews are safe, my general--we.re all s-safe, we're all safe, Alphonse!"  
The emperor laughed and, in joyful exuberance, threw the boy up and caught him, simply laughing even more when doing so made him lose his supportive balance against Ezekiel's body guard and topple over on to his back in the grass. And then he pulled the boy close and kissed him, running his fingers through his hair, and Alphonse kissed him back.  
Girik visibly gagged before leaning in to a stunned Mirin, whispering.  
"Heathens!"  
He went unheard, but the tortured little hiss from Raphael did not.  
Asmodeus opened his eyes--then slowly pushed himself up, hissing back.  
"Ah, yes. I'd almost forgotten you. You miserable, filthy bastard!"  
One of Ezekiel's other guards had been carrying the man, mostly to please the mighty dragons, but at remembering who exactly he was he frowned and dropped him. Asmodeus' snarls grew all the stronger.  
"I can't kill Maeve, but they didn't say anything about not killing you."  
The emperor's snarling was interrupted by another's hateful hiss. A moment later Alphonse let out a yelp as he was snatched away from the emperor, and then Asmodeus found himself kicked, Alex drawing his brother both close and away from him.  
"Get your hands off my brother you disgusting old man! Kill him and kill YOURSELF!" He roared while Alphonse went red and covered his face in shame, suddenly realizing he had willingly kissed the emperor in front of everyone he knew.  
"Oh, Alex, it's not--really--" the emperor started, then sighed. Alphonse would be leaving him soon, so there was no sense in arguing with his twin. What he wanted would take place soon enough.  
"Don't worry, Alex, I'll die of old age soon enough... but him... he needs a little nudge in the right direction."  
Clutching at the bodyguard again, Asmodeus hauled himself up, glaring at Raphael anew.  
"One of you goblins, give me a knife. And oh, Seth, sorry--"  
The general, who had kept quiet the whole journey, blinked as the emperor's robe was tossed at him. He pulled it quickly over himself, sinking into the folds.  
"Thank you, my lord."  
Asmodeus nodded softly, fighting down yet another surge of hatred towards Maeve, then gestured at the goblins again.  
"KNIFE, please."  
"Oh, I'll GIVE you a knife!" Girik hissed, prompted another smack from Mirin.  
And Raphael said nothing, did nothing, hoped for nothing, simply staring away into the dark sky.  
When none of the goblins actually moved to give the emperor a knife, Alex pulled out his own and reluctantly gave it to him. After that he moved back, returning to his brother and clutching him jealously close.  
At that Alphonse paused in the covering of his face, tensed up and clutched back at his brother. His own eyes focused on the warlord's still form in a hateful glare, his body trembling for reasons far different than before.  
Asmodeus, however, didn't immediately move. How he'd longed for this day since a month before... yet now that it was here, it felt almost incorporeal, as if reaching out to claim it would disperse the whole dream before him and see him wake once more in Maeve's clutches. The emperor looked at Raphael, then at Alphonse, and it was the latter who finally prompted him to move.  
Stalking forward, slow--with a little help from the guard--he kicked Raphael roughly on to his stomach and then knelt atop him with his good knee. Gripping his hair he jerked his head roughly up and set the blade against his throat.  
Raphael's eyes fixed then, on Alphonse's face. There was nothing but hate there. Raphael let his eyes close again as the knife pressed harder against his skin and Asmodeus hissed in his ear.  
"Say hello to Lucian in hell for me."  
A soft sigh in Alphonse's head.  
 _ **Will his death heal your wounds?**_  
Alphonse went stiff, his eyes widening, fingers curling tightly into his brother's clothes.  
Would it fix him? To see the warlord dead before him? Before, he had thought he could not find peace as long as he lived. Now, he was certain he could not gain any more peace than seeing his friends safe and free would give him. But still, the warlord's taint remained. Every thought he had linked to him. And once he was gone? He was not so sure.  
But wasn't that exactly why he must die?  
After everything he had done, the only thing more fitting was for him to suffer for the rest of his life as he had, but that he couldn't have.  
"D-death is too kind for you, but if it's a-all I can have, then I will take it," he hissed hatefully.  
"Finish it." Raphael said, soft.  
Asmodeus bared his teeth and slid the knife forward, ready for the gash--  
And stopped, looking up. Quiet despite its immensity, the white serpent rose behind Alphonse, the green eyes so high above winking like stars.  
 _ **Child of green, I know the horrors that have befallen you at his hands. Yet it was also his hands that set you free.**_  
The great head lowered close to his own, but caused Alphonse no fear.  
 _ **Once this man dreamed of peace. He has fallen far from those dreams. Yet a time of great change is coming, and the many who follow him will need guidance lest they fall astray. Many upon the sands have chosen to give death. Will you, child of green, choose to give life?**_  
Alphonse sobbed, closed his eyes.  
"S-set me free? He r-raped me! Again! Like he has done countless times! And where were you then?! Where were you then to make sure the right thing was done?!" He twisted around, glaring and shaking.  
"He made me believe there were no gods… but the truth is, the only gods there are are his… Take him, if that is w-what you want, take him and let me leave this hell!"   
With that he let go of his brother, ran inside the castle.  
"Alphonse!" Alex cried out ofter him, then turned, back towards the emperor and the captive warlord, hissing. He surged forward, snatching his blade from Asmodeus' fingers, moving to sink the blade straight into the man's belly—a fatal blow that would give him the slow death he deserved.  
Asmodeus jerked Raphael up, and the blade sunk true.  
Raphael simply grunted as the knife pierced--and ripped, straight down, blood and entrail bubbling up as the wound split wide. Alex jerked back then, wide eyed and breathing hard even as he hissed. He had never killed before. The guts spilled crimson before him and despite the hate within him he felt suddenly ill. The knife slipped from his fingers and he stepped back, trembling.  
Asmodeus slammed Raphael down, hiding the gash.  
"Alex, go to Alphonse."  
The boy whimpered and ran, up the stairs after his twin.   
And Raphael lay there, struggling for breath, the red pooling around him.  
The dragon hissed as if in pain.  
 _ **Ill will come of this. Yet we can interfere no more.**_

Alex caught up to his twin in no time, the other having stumbled to a walk as soon as the others were out of sight.  
"A-Alphonse!" The blond turned as he was called, his eyes widening. His brother ran to him, eyes wide, breathing hard, hands stained red.  
"A-Alex… did you…?" Alex froze at that, and his eyes followed his brother's right to his own blood stained hands. He winced at the sight, then lurched to the side, bile in his mouth, the contents of his stomach rising up and spilling into the pot of the nearest plant.  
He shuddered as he felt Alphonse's hands gently stroking his back, comforting.  
"Thank you."   
Alex sobbed, shaking his head and shuddering, not looking up at his brother.  
"I-I shouldn't have d-done that… i-it wasn't right."  
Alphonse held him from behind, hiding his face against his neck.  
"A-Alex please… y-you know what he'd done… what he could do… as long as he lived, none of u-us could be safe."   
Alex shuddered. But the man had looked so helpless, so sad, so miserable. And he had been the murderer who sunk his blade into the warlord's unresisting belly. He did not say that, however. He did not say anything at all. Merely sobbed against his brother, let himself be tugged towards their room, the bathroom, to clean away the bile and blood.

Asmodeus had remained where he was a moment longer before he slowly stood, gesturing for one of Ezekiel's guards to help him. Then the whole procession moved inside the castle, few sparing the dying man even a single glance... but still. A few.  
Prince looked down upon him, whimpered, pressed his face hard against Claude and clung to him and Ezekiel as they stepped inside. The girl with white hair cast him an unhappy glance before covering her face and carrying on. Girik laughed and spat at him. But there was one more.  
"Luke..." Thomas said, worried, as the priest knelt beside the dying man.  
"What you did to him... the horrors... they will haunt his dreams forever. But in the end, you showed mercy."  
With trembling fingers Luke picked up the fallen knife, pressing it to the man's throat and squeezing his eyes shut.  
"May God show that same mercy to you."  
 _ **Peace, child. I will end his suffering. Do not stain your hands.**_  
Luke whimpered and let the knife fall. Raphael took a strained breath and spoke.  
"I deserve no such mercy. I will not ask your forgiveness, Luke, for I deserve none, but please... please, protect Alphonse, as you always have."  
"I will." Luke said, soft. "And I forgive you, even if you don't ask it."  
He stood then, Thomas wrapping an arm protectively around him, the two stumbling after the others. When they had gone, the great white dragon leaned forward, jaws parting over Raphael's limp body. He felt a strange lightness, as if he was lifting away. He croaked.  
"Please, please n-no. Let my death come slowly. Let me suffer for my sins, even if only as little as this."  
The great mouth closed softly, and the head turned away--to look at something else. Up the street, looking considerably more content with her lot than she had before, was Maeve--leading what must have been a good few hundred sniffling, whimpering young boys and girls behind herself, all incredibly beautiful.  
She saw his chained shape from far away, laughed.  
"Really? They left you like trash in the middle of the street--" that was when she noticed the blood.  
Raphael felt soft fingers press firmly against his neck, held there for a moment. He shuddered as he was pulled onto his back, into her arms, his wound revealed. A soft curse, the woman removing her coat and pressing the cloth over his wound.  
"You stupid dog. We could have had it all, and instead you betrayed me for this?"  
His vision swam. She was nothing but a beautiful smudge of red and blue above him. He closed his eyes. The world was so cold around him.  
"This is what I deserve..."  
Something warm then, against his lips. "Well, I deserve better." A whisper in his ear, her voice echoing around in his head until the world became nothing around him.  
And then the world became pain, pulsing and hot, a horrible pang in his belly while the rest of his body ached. He opened his eyes, that smudge of blue and red still above him, slowly changing into her smiling face.  
"Awake? Good, that's very good. It was not easy, but if you make it past tonight, you might still make it out of this." Her fingers ran over his hair, brushing the white strands out of his face.  
He was quiet for a moment, merely staring at her in a haze.  
"W-why?"  
She blinked down at him, then smiled, cupping his chin.  
"You owe me a wedding, remember?" And then her lips pressed to his once more, warm in a way that his wounds were not.  
He kissed her back. Desperate. As if she was the last living creature upon the earth. Trembling he tried to push himself closer, to hold her, and she had to pin him softly back down to keep him from injuring himself in the attempt. Sad, silly thing. So much like Seth. Perhaps they and the girl were all that was left of a dying breed.  
Yet even as he kissed her his tremors increased until at last he pulled away from her with a cry.  
"No, n-no! You should have let me die--I deserve to die--"  
The thought of Alphonse's rightfully hateful face, of all the things he'd _done_. He screamed in anguish and clawed at the stitches on his stomach, Maeve cursing and grabbing him, yelling for help, several guards rushing in to hold him down.  
"Stop it you damn stupid dog--"  
The whole boat rumbled, rocked by something closer and deeper than thunder.  
 _ **Your death will not heal the horrors you caused. Live, oh fallen child of the sands. Live, if you truly regret. Live, and lead your people to the peace you once dreamed of. That is your punishment and your penance.**_  
Raphael fell still at that voice, and remained still a long time, until Maeve dismissed her guards and attended him alone. When at last he spoke, voice soft, it startled her.  
"I will... I w-will."  
And then he wept, and she held him, and he hid willingly against her, until the slow rocking of the ship upon the river waters lulled him at last into sleep.

Alex scrubbed his hands again and again and again and still they felt red, looked red, were red. He made small broken sounds of pain and clung sickly to the side of the tub, Alphonse clutching him, and neither looked up when they heard their names called, not until the emperor's arms wrapped gently around them both.  
"I'm sorry, Alex. I should have been the one to do it. His death is mine to carry, not yours."  
To his surprise, it was Alphonse who answered.  
"No, I should have killed him myself." A soft whisper, only audible to them because of their closeness. The boy stared blankly at nothing, merely lay in Asmodeus' arms while he held his brother as well.  
But then suddenly he stirred, and he grabbed his brother's face gently, pulled him forward and kissed his forehead.  
"It doesn't matter, Alex, you did a good thing… sometimes… we have to do things that make us feel filthy… but they are the right thing to do." He shuddered, and his brother sniffled at that, suddenly pulled him close.  
"Y-you're right, Alphonse, I'm sorry… h-he hurt you… a-and I would do it again, to make sure no one ever hurts you…" He croaked, the two brothers holding each other and shivering. And then, suddenly.  
“D-did you hear that old man?" Alphonse could not help but laugh.  
Asmodeus laughed, too, and ruffled Alex's hair affectionately.  
"So cruel. If you can resist the urge to kill me tonight, though, will you come to the library? No one wanted to use seperate rooms, so everyone's heading there."  
Alex reluctantly promised, which prompted another laugh from both Alphonse and Asmodeus. Then they were off down the corridors, to the room that had become their second home.  
All the groups had split into their various factions, although none strayed too far apart. The goblins were, shockingly, browsing the books, and even more shockinglythey were doing so with the greatest of care. Thomas lay on a couch, Luke hovering beside him and the old healer woman fussing over his wounds. Seth, already treated, lay nearby, eyes dimming over towards medicine soothed sleep. Ezekiel and his two lovers formed a small huddle nearby, clutching one another for comfort, while the other Zeke and his lover sat nearby, the former still wailing for his mistress. Further still, in a small knot, were the pale and frightened slaves freed from Maeve's hold.  
Throughout this all servants moved, looking somewhere between mystified and accepting at the bizarreness of the last few days, quite happy to simply follow the comforting motions of their work. They dispersed light food and clothing and blankets throughout those assembled, tending to their needs.  
Asmodeus, straightening, moved towards his nephews. And Luke, looking up, moved towards the twins.  
His arms wrapped around them, and he laughed, voice filled with wonder.  
"It's over. It's over at last."  
Alex said nothing and shivered, but his brother smiled gently and pulled Luke closer.  
"It is. You were right all along, Luke."  
When they pulled back, however, his eyes settled on something else, expression becoming serious.  
"…What about them?" He said, referring to the few new faces that were even now huddled together.  
"Do you think… they're from the greenlands too?"  
Luke's eyes followed Alphonse's, settling on the huddled bodies.  
"I don't think so... Thomas took down descriptions of as many missing people as he could, and none of them seem to fit. And, that girl... I've never seen white hair anywhere but--"  
Luke stopped, and Alphonse didn't have to guess why. Their eyes darted from former slave to former slave, but the girl was nowhere in sight. Their alarm changed to something between unhappy understanding and relief as they suddenly caught note of a small figure curled up beside one of the couches, balled within a blanket, hiding the face and hair that had caused her so much pain.  
"...We should go talk to them. They must have no idea what's going on."  
In their own little gathering nearby, Ezekiel whimpered and pressed tighter to Claude and Prince.  
He had been in Maeve's possession for less than a week, but it had changed him. It had been long years since anyone had reminded him that, royal though he might be, he was also nothing but a silly young boy. His words now came quieter, more timid, the way the merchant remembered him.  
"There's a bedroom nearby... can we...? I want you both c-closer..."  
Claude and Prince pressed their faces against him, nodded--then jumped and squeaked as they noticed the emperor standing quite close to them.  
Ezekiel cast him a horrified glance, but rather than snarling, Asmodeus simply sighed.  
"Don't go far, and come back when you finish, yes?"  
Ezekiel nodded hastily--and then rushed into his uncle's arms, trembling. Asmodeus nuzzled his hair affectionately, then looked up at Claude.  
"I expect you to make my nephew happy, understand? No more weak excuses like getting kidnapped."  
"Y-Yes, e-emperor!" Claude squeaked, slightly terrified even when Asmodeus' tone was teasing. The emperor gave his nephew one last tight squeeze, then let him go, passing by the three and giving Prince a gentle pat on the head as he moved towards his other nephew.  
This Ezekiel was far less eager about his approach, growling as he drew near. Asmodeus sighed, crouched, making himself less threatening.  
"My little one, I failed you... I'll never be able to mend what she's done... but I promise, I promise I will make every day of your life henceforth a happy one. Nothing will ever hurt you or take you from me again."  
"I. Want. MISTRESS," the boy hissed, turning away, clutching his pregnant wife jealously close. Asmodeus closed his eyes. This task would, perhaps, be even harder than mending his shattered country, but he would devote himself utterly to it nonetheless.  
Straightening--there was nothing else he could do for this one, not yet--he began to limp his way towards his general, balancing himself against couches and tables to cross the distance.  
Seth was still staring glassy eyed at the ceiling, not yet surrendered to the lull of medicine in his veins. As such, he noticed Asmodeus' presence rather quickly, tried to stand.  
"My lord--"  
"Lie down, Seth, you're injured."  
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Seth settled back at that, waiting to see what his emperor required of him. Asmodeus' face creased with pain.  
"Seth, I'm sorry."  
The general stared, not understanding. Then understanding, but not believing. His breathing grew uncomfortably fast.  
"Please, my lord, it was nothing--"  
"It wasn't your fault."  
More confusion, more distress. Seth looked at Asmodeus and found he had to squint harder and harder to see him, his vision blurring.  
"I..."  
He turned those pale blue eyes towards the sky.  
"She... gave me something... some incense... and I didn't fight her... not at all... I just... I... I almost..."  
"It wasn't your fault. Don't be ashamed."  
There was no fighting the tears now. Seth felt a child, weeping so, especially when it wasn't even over a physical hurt. But Asmodeus showed no scorn, and when the man who had served as a second parent to him pulled him gently close, Seth gave himself over completely to the feeling, sobbing soundlessly against him.  
"T-Thank you... f-father..."  
Asmodeus held the boy--for was that not all he was, really?--until at last he succumbed to sleep in his arms, and then he stroked his hair gently and set him down, looking up to see where Alphonse had gone.  
The boy was not where he had last seen him. His eyes scanned the busy room until they found him. He had gotten up with Luke, leaving both his brother and Thomas behind. But while Luke had walked towards the other rescued slaves, Alphonse had made his way to the servants, asking for more food and water and then making his way toward the small, hidden bundle by the couch, which had gone unnoticed while food was passed around.  
He had crouched before her, making himself small as well. Not too close, but not too far away.  
"Um… H-hello, my name is Alphonse… are you hungry?"  
She didn't move. Thinking she hadn't heard, he asked again, even more softly--and got a tortured croak from her in response. She made the noise several times, as if trying to answer, and then simply fell quiet and withdrew deeper into the blanket. The trembling started then--soft at first, then like a tempest--and when a single strand of pure white hair slipped from the confines of her cover she yanked it viciously and immediately back out of sight.  
He grimaced. He knew what it was like, having eyes settle on him, looking greedily, hungrily at him, all because of how he looked.  
Except unlike her, he had never had a chance to hide it from sight.  
He placed the plate carefully on the floor, pushed it gently towards her, then was quiet for a moment.  
"It's... it's not like other times... I know it's hard to believe... but it's not... you haven't changed masters, no one is going to hurt us ever again... you don't have to be afraid anymore."  
Slowly, her head raised beneath the shroud of fabric, and more slowly still her shudders faded. At last her hand reached out, soft slim fingers pulling the plate close. She made a weak sound that might have been a thank you. How long had it been since she'd last spoken? All those months in the darkness, she couldn't remember...  
Her first bite was tentative. But after that it became pitifully ravenous. She tore through the meal as if it might be her last, always pulling the food deep inside the blankets to herself, never showing more skin than her arms.  
And then an apple slipped too readily from her nervous fingers, and she went after it, and--  
It was like the first touch of sun on the white field lilies. Alphonse stared despite himself at the angel who had so suddenly emerged from under the cloth, the pure ivory hair, the wide green eyes. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.  
The girl, in turn, went statue stiff, staring up at him in terror. And then she withdrew with violent speed back beneath her blankets, apple forgotten, shrinking once more into a shivering little parcel against the floor.  
Shocked as he was, it took Alphonse a moment to realize that the smooth expanse of shoulder he'd seen revealed she was still naked beneath her covering, a further sign of how unnoticeable she'd made herself as the servants passed by.  
He remained frozen where he was for a moment, then reached for the apple, the girl stiffening as he pushed it into her hands.  
"I... I-I'll be right back!" He stammered, then got to his feet and ran away.  
He came back several minutes later, still running but carrying something in his arms. Once more he came to a stop before her, crouching down and offering up the bundle of clothes in his arms.  
"These are mine but I think they will fit you. They're boy's clothes but they will cover you well and..." At that he hesitated, looking away, a small tinge of red marking his cheeks.  
"...and... there are many empty rooms nearby, you could change there, o-or go to the third floor... it's empty and I could guard the stairs..."  
Again she raised her head, but this time she made no effort to veil her face within the shadows.  
Her expression held the same apprehensive wonder his own had, when he first truly understood that Asmodeus meant to help him for no reason but kindness. How could mercy still exist in that world? Even if it did, how could it have come to them, after all that time? Yet she believed.  
"Thank you."   
There was no mistaking her words, even quiet as they were. She tried to rise to her feet--stumbled--and he caught her, supporting her carefully to and up the stairs.  
Once they'd reached the top floor (and he'd appraised it carefully for peepers), he made his way halfway back down again, standing guard and fighting the uncomfortable blush that seemed to have befallen him. When at last she rejoined him, she was still wrapped within the blanket, but her movements were easier and she didn't flinch as she took his arm.   
Asmodeus was awaiting when they reached the bottom of the stairs, and he only increased Alphonse's embarrassment tenfold as he elbowed him gently, grinning.  
"That was fast."  
Alphonse sputtered, his protests drowned under the healer's loud complaints from across the room that would the emperor PLEASE sit down and stop wasting all the work she'd done treating him--and then she went quiet, they all went quiet as the door opened and a band dressed in the distinctive rugged clothing of Raphael's army shouldered the door open.  
Asmodeus shoved Alphonse and his charge behind himself, reaching for a knife that was no longer there even as his eyes desperately searched for his nephews. Someone screamed. And Thomas sat up, eyes wide.  
"NALIA?"  
The soldier at the front of the troupe clasped his--no, her--hands to her face, and then the whole motley gang was racing towards him. They swarmed over him and Luke and Alex in a giant wave of hugs and back thumping, and when at last they spotted Alphonse they swept him and his squeaking companion up too. Those who recognized them cheered; those who did not relaxed nonetheless, taking the other's reactions as a sign of safety.  
Thomas drew back as soon as they would let him, staring in disbelief.  
"But why--how--I told you to run--"  
"As if any of us would leave you!" Nalia retorted, fiercely. But then her voice softened.  
"We couldn't abandon you. Never. Death before that! But don't worry, boss, we played smart. We made ourselves blend in, burnt down the enemy's camp--not that it did much good in the end--and then we were trying to figure out how to come get all of you when those dragons showed up. Just now the big white one told us where to find you..."  
"You're stupid. You're all stupid," Thomas said, wiping away tears. "But I'm glad you are."  
Alphonse had not objected to Asmodeus hiding him behind himself, and in turn he had further pushed the girl farther behind the two of them. But then the identity of the guards was revealed, and they all visibly relaxed.  
Their presence suddenly brought a thought to him, and he turned towards the girl.  
"Um, I... I didn't catch your name, but, me and the others, we're from the greenlands... are you from anywhere around there?"  
The girl's answer came as a soft croak and a touch of her throat. It took Alphonse a moment to realize why, and then he looked away in miserable shame. He had been fortunate to have Luke, one voice of reason in that land of madness, a companion in hell. Without him perhaps he, too, would have given up on speaking--  
"Liora."  
He looked at her. She took another breath, trying to speak further, and he anxiously touched her arm.  
"Don't strain yourself, it's alright."  
She shook her head and continued all the same, voice low and taking many pauses in between breaths.  
"From desert... never heard of... greenlands."  
The girl looked up then, at Seth asleep on his couch.  
"Is he... from there...?"  
"No, he's also from the desert. When he wakes, I'm sure he'd love to speak with you. I've only ever seen three people like you in my entire life."  
That was Asmodeus, and at his words Liora's face fell, gaze drifting to the floor.  
She looked up as a hand was placed gently on her shoulder, Alphonse looking at her.  
"It's alright Liora, you can go home now, we all can…. u-unless you want to stay with him—the emperor and his men are very kind! I'm sure they'll take you in and protect you! You don't have to be afraid, he's a good man…" He trailed off then, eyes straying towards the emperor by his side, expression filling with sorrow for more than one reason.  
Asmodeus noticed the boy's look. His eyes widened as they met--and then in contrast to Alphonse he twisted away, only barely concealing the grief that overtook him.   
His beloved was free, and for that he would always be grateful, but where he went he could not follow.  
Liora didn't notice any of this, shuffling her feet and looking sadly down in turn.  
"No home... left."  
"As Alphonse says, you are welcome to stay here."  
"...Thank you. And thank you, Alphonse."  
The blonde started out of his gloom as she suddenly hugged him--or at least his side, quick and soft, and then she pulled back and withdrew into her blanket as her body racked with tears she didn't understand. Alphonse cried out and--carefully--held her, promising it would be alright, she was safe, the nightmare was over. Liora knew without him needing to say that his nightmare was ending, too, and in the strange emptiness left by their sudden freedom, they found comfort in one another. It wasn't until at last she had fallen asleep, on a couch with Alphonse by her side, that the boy looked up and realized he'd completely lost track of Asmodeus.  
Setting Liora's head carefully down against the cushions, he stood, stretching and looking around. Everyone else seemed to have followed suit, curled up in peaceful exhaustion across scattered chairs and couches, safe for the first time in many moons under the watchful eyes of the dragons. Luke and Thomas were nestled together asleep on one couch, the latter snoring, with both Maeve's slaves and Thomas' crew around them. The goblins were scattered a bit further beyond that, Alex in their midst, an open book on Girik's lap that Alphonse now vaguely recalled hearing him read aloud to all the assembled company to "get Noel to go the fuck to sleep and all you idiots too." Seth was on his couch nearby, peaceful, and further beyond him were Asmodeus' two nephews coiled up on and around their lovers. But Asmodeus? Of him there was no sign.  
Alphonse looked up, as if seeking a sign, and received one. The emperor's silhouette, on the third floor, vanishing out of sight as he finished ascending the staircase.  
The boy got carefully up from the couch and tip toed his way through the many sleeping forms littering the floor until he reached the staircase.  
Once there, he made his way up as fast as he could while remaining silent, which was not fast at all. Still, there was nowhere for the emperor to go to on the third floor, and so Alphonse quickly caught up to him. His back was turned to him, but he seemed to hear him as he stepped closer.  
"Emperor..." His voice came soft and quiet, not wanting to wake the others. He hesitated then. Why had he sought out the man? There was nothing for him to say... other than his good byes to him. He supposed it would be better to do it now, when others couldn't hear their words. His eyes strayed down, towards the silver glint on his hand. Slowly, he removed the ring from his finger.  
"I... should give this back to you... I almost took it last time I left..."  
Asmodeus turned his head as the boy approached, but with a strange reluctance quite unlike his normal empathetic greeting. His eyes widened at the sight of the ring and then he turned entirely away again.  
"No, please, keep it, if the memories it evokes are good. I suppose that's all we'll have in the end... memories..."  
Asmodeus sighed, and the silence filled in between them like a chasm.  
Many thoughts raced through Alphonse's head, words unspoken, but at last he haltingly began to turn away--only to pause when the man spoke again.  
"I... know I can't ask you to stay, but... since Thomas is wounded... perhaps you could stay until he heals?"  
A low shudder passed through the emperor at that.  
"I would follow after you then, if I could... but to abandon this country now would be a betrayal of all that Katrina and I worked for. I must become the emperor I should have been long ago."  
There was no concealing the wistfulness in his voice, but just when it seemed he would slump into melancholy silence, the man visibly brightened.  
"Although, it will be a few weeks before he's ready to travel, will it not? Perhaps, then--perhaps that's all the time required. I could mend the city a great deal, and, perhaps, pass over the throne to Seth--he would make a far better lord than I--and then I could--No."  
The rising excitement in his voice died.  
"No. I have no right to follow you, after what I did... that first night..."  
Now at last the emperor turned to him. He took a limping step forward, then simply fell to one knee, head hanging.  
"I'm sorry, Alphonse... I'm sorry..."  
Ring back on his hand, Alphonse stepped forward, and the emperor's heart beat faster as the blond knelt before him. Slim hands reached for his face, cupped him, and gently moved his head to look at him. Alphonse simply watched him for a moment, quiet. Asmodeus shuddered.  
"…You're not the same man you were that night… you've changed," He murmured, and unlike with Raphael, this time he meant the words.  
"I forgive you." He said, smiling softly, accepting his apology instead of trying to deny it. The blond moved forwards then, pressing against him as his warm lips once more pressed to his own. A gentle and careful gesture rather than the desperate one their reunion had coaxed.  
Asmodeus made a soft weak sound, the wordless oath of one too grateful to speak, and he kissed the boy back. His hands cupped his back and his hair with gentle grace, feeling his skin, memorizing his warmth. He wanted that feeling and that scent of far green lands to last forever, even if only in memory.  
"By dragons and rivers, I'll miss you when you're gone," he whispered, pulling back, eyes closed in pain. "I feel as if you've set me free after ten years in hell. Everything is different..."  
Alphonse tucked his head under the emperor's chin, nuzzling his way closer to the man.  
"I will miss you too…" He murmured, his fingers curling into the emperor's clothes, but unlike him, his eyes were open and staring, staring far beyond him.  
"B-but I miss my family too… s-so much… my mother, my father, uncles, aunts, cousins and… the green…" He felt Alphonse shuddering in his arms, and somehow he felt even smaller than normal.  
The blond tucked his head down, pressing his face firmly into the emperor's chest while he trembled.  
"T-ten days, t-ten months, ten y-years… w-whatever it was, it felt like forever… and you set me free, when I thought a-all I had left was death… T-thank you… thank you..."  
"Dear one, I wish I could have saved you sooner."  
They stayed like that for a long time, two forms melded under the moon and stars, finding solace in each other. But at length Asmodeus stirred, nuzzling the boy again and speaking hesitantly.  
"If you do not wish it, since we have many guests, I understand... but... might I sleep with you in my arms tonight?"  
The boy nodded against him, laughed softly.   
"Most of our guests have already seen me sleep in your arms, anyways."  
With that they stood, and despite his protests, Alphonse helped him forward. They reached one of the many spacious couches, and the emperor settled down first, so that Alphonse could climb into his embrace afterwards, laying more atop him than beside him as he nuzzled his way closer against the man's warm body. He closed his eyes, rested his head gently against Asmodeus' chest.  
"Goodnight, emperor."  
"Rest well, Alphonse."  
The lullaby of a strong heart and the security of strong arms carried the young blonde into a deeper sleep than any drug. Dreams came to him in the night, the first kind ones since he had been taken, dreams of riding on dragonback through the sky and under the stars until everything around him stretched green...

Alphonse awoke to noise and stirred, blinking as the sun blazed brilliant above him. Asmodeus was gone, and so he took his time stretching and stumbling out of bed, heading downstairs to the commotion. The ruckus turned out to be all the goblins competing with one another to see who could find the best story for the larger, white masked one--Noel, was that his name?--and despite how they shoved and tripped and bit one another they handled the books themselves with delicate care, marching proudly up to Noel and enticing him with snippets. Seemingly encouraged by the goblins, Thomas' staff were doing the same thing for him, the man laughing and Luke grinning beside him as everyone proclaimed in extravagant tones how their book was the best.  
"THIS, master Thomas, is a king among novels, truly, filled with the most wonderous of words and charming of tales--"  
"Vare, you can't read."  
"You think that means I don't know a good book when I see one?! Look how big it is!"  
Asmodeus, Seth, and the emperor's long lost nephew were nowhere to be seen, but his other nephew was following the healer around, whining.  
"And you just TELL Collin that he is SO fired, abandoning me in my time of need--"  
"Oh, shut up, child! I need to prepare for my coming grandkid, and I only have nine months for it! You think they'd at least give me a little more warning--"  
She tottered out of the room, Ezekiel bawling behind her and Claude and Prince following after, bemused.  
Alphonse was interrupted in his watching of everyone by a servant coming up to him, smiling and bowing.  
"Morning, my lord. The emperor is quite busy at the moment, but he hopes you'll join him for a brief lunch in a half hour, if it please you."  
The boy looked taken aback by his words, even turned to look behind him, searching for the person the servant was addressing, for it certainly wasn't him.  
When he turned back towards him he gaped a little, still disbelieving.  
"U-um, no I'm not—not a lord—I just—I'll be there! I'm just… going to take a shower first!" He managed, then dashed past the amused servant and down the stairs. He noticed that for the first time, he felt light as a feather. No fear held him down anymore, and as he ran through the halls, a smile blossomed onto his face. He went back to his room, the one he had shared with Luke, Thomas and his brother, and took to the bathroom.  
A quick shower helped him clean away whatever remaining filth the warlord had left on him, and then he changed into clothes that had not yet been made ragged and torn by cruel hands. He shuddered a little as he remembered, but soon pushed the thoughts off his mind. He figured, by then, his half an hour must have passed, and so, still running, he made his way towards the dining hall.  
Asmodeus was there--and deep in conversation with a handful of other official looking people. He waved a hand to silence them as Alphonse stepped in, smiling at the boy and telling him to eat. The blonde did so, although he took his time at it, not really setting in in full until Asmodeus officially called a temporary halt and sat down to join him.  
The meal was over all too soon, and despite himself Alphonse couldn't hide his disappointment when Asmodeus stood to join the others again. It was then, though, that a deep rumble shook the halls, Asmodeus cocking his ear to the side.  
"It seems our other guests are waiting outside. If you'll excuse me, good folk, I'll return shortly--but Alphonse, would you like to come?"  
Yes, he would, and so soon after they had strode out the castle's front doors to meet the dragons. They were spread out lazily in the sun, bodies looped across street and under lake, and only the great heads bent down to greet them as they approached.  
It was the pleased thrumming of the white dragon that first formed words within their heads, tone sweet as music.  
 _ **Dear one, we wish to discuss the reason for our long absence with you.**_  
"I listen; speak, my friend."  
The black was the one to answer, again in that booming roar.  
 _ **A great evil long sealed in the southern mountains awoke, fifteen long years past. We have battled it for every day and every night since our last meeting, and have sealed it again at last.**_  
 _ **It would have destroyed all that is. We could not cease our war with it. That, dear one, is why we did not come...**_  
For the first time since Alphonse had seen the wyrms, their inner voices were subdued, uncertain. They hovered close over Asmodeus as he stared away and tightened his fists.  
"I forgive you. I knew you would have come, if you were able."  
 _ **Dear one... we share your loss. But we shall all be reunited in time. Be strong, father.**_  
They pressed in close about him, and Asmodeus laid his hands on their great faces and said nothing for a time.  
"...But you did not come simply to tell me this."  
 _ **No. I came for farewell.**_  
The white dragon's voice. Asmodeus looked up at this, disraught.  
"So soon?"  
 _ **The soldiers who came must be led away again. I will take them back to the sea.**_  
 _ **I shall stay**_ , the black dragon boomed. _ **I shall protect you until much is mended. And then I will bring you home.**_  
The great blue eyes slid to Alphonse.  
With one arm he clung to the emperor's sleeve, whimpering as the dragon's eyes settled on him and its roaring voice echoed in his head.  
"T-thank you…" He finally managed, although the gratefulness did not reach his eyes.  
 _ **Child of green, only the wicked need fear me.**_  
Asmodeus didn't seem to hear that, leaving Alphonse alone to look timidly upwards. It was strange, he thought; the eyes in that monstrous face looked so human. Yet already the beast was turning away, rubbing skulls with the white, who returned the gesture before bringing her nose down to Asmodeus once more. He touched her muzzle, gently.   
"Will you return, when you are done?"  
 _ **All things are possible.**_  
"That's not much of an answer."  
A soft rumble again, and the strong mouth formed the faintest smile.  
 _ **I shall return when I am able.**_  
"I am glad."  
Asmodeus pressed his forehead to the warm scales, gently, and when at last the contact broke he watched as the great white dragon drifted towards the south, where Maeve's ships were waiting.  
"Mm... Alphonse, I'm going to see her off, will you...?"  
Alphonse took his hand, and the two ascended the nearest wall, watching. A series of thick strong ropes had been run from the ships to the sand, and, taking them gently in her mouth, the wyrm slipped into the water and began to draw them all away down the river, like a child leading a toy on a string. Wordlessly, the assembled masses of Raphael's army, laden with what supplies they had left, began to follow.  
The wind picked up, blowing a freshness down from the north. Asmodeus squeezed Alphonse's hand wordlessly as the procession marched away into the desert, fainter and fainter, until the dust of their feet and the brightness of the sun blurred sand and horizon and men together into one rippling line.  
"...it's hard to believe it's over, isn't it?"  
To his surprise, the boy shook his head instead, eyes fixed on the dwindling shapes of the parting ships.  
"I doubted this day would come with all my being, and now… now what happened seems like nothing but an awful nightmare…"  
Alphonse squeezed his fingers back, turned to look at him, smiling even as he shook, tears sliding down his cheeks.  
"T-thank you… thank you… After everything… I am at least glad I met y-you…"  
The boy's trembling body pressed to his in a tight hug.  
"N-no matter how many miles… how many years pass between us… I will never forget you."  
"And I will never forget you, Alphonse."  
He wrapped his arms around him, loose, a gentle lover's embrace.  
"Perhaps, as the dragons say, we will see each other again..."  
It was the sound of hammers falling, repairs being done to one of the many damaged houses, that startled Asmodeus out of his melancholy.  
"Oh, damn it--I need to get back--Alphonse, I imagine the meetings will be boring for you, so will you just return to the library? I'm sure between you and your brother you can keep the company in check, haha."  
Sniffling and wiping away at his tears, the boy nodded.   
"Yes, Alex is probably looking for me anyways... until later, emperor." He murmured softly, smiling one last time at him before he turned and strode away, back towards the library.  
"Alphonse!"  
The boy turned around at that plaintive squawk, to find Asmodeus looking at him with wide sad eyes, injured leg gingerly held up. Alphonse squeaked and, rushing back to him, helped him limp forward once more, Asmodeus murmuring thanks before sighing.  
"I suppose I should get a cane until I heal, but... everyone will think I'm old."  
"Emperor, everyone already thinks you're old."  
"You little--!"  
As they walked, a rumbling began. Soon it became a swell, and then a roar, and soon all the streets were packed with people running to and from the walls, cheering, throwing hats and flowers in the air and hollering insults at the now safely distant backs of their enemies. A few of the more exuberant (and perhaps slightly drunk) fellows even ran up to the black dragon with intentions to clap and hug him, but as those burning eyes fixed on them and they remembered quite how big he was they turned away and went to find more liquor instead.  
The cheer was infectious. Asmodeus and Alphonse spent much of the way back laughing, joking with one another, sharing affectionate little touches that in other circumstances Alphonse might have been too shy to do so lightly. Then at last they were at the castle, the blonde helping the injured lord through the long halls to his throne room, servants parting the magnificent doors before them as they passed. What waited, however, wasn't what Asmodeus had expected, and he cocked an eyebrow.  
"Seth?"  
"My lord."  
The young general was standing before the throne, on his own power, though it was obviously causing him some strain. A few of his closest captains stood nearby, all eyes on Asmodeus. The emperor raised an eyebrow even further.  
"You didn't send everyone home, did you? I rather needed them."  
"No, they're waiting in the banquet hall, but I needed to speak with you first."  
The general took a long step forward and knelt.  
"My lord, too long have I held my tongue, out of gratitude to you and the empress, and out of worry that it would do more ill than good to ask it. I hoped that in time you would heal, and asking would no longer be needed."  
The general took a slow breath.  
"I feel you have healed, at long last, yet still I will be the one to ask it. Will you abolish slavery, my lord, as you did once before?"  
Alphonse did not entirely understand what was happening, but he did not like it. With a whimper, he moved closer to Asmodeus, glaring at Seth and his men.  
"Of course he will--he has already set many of us free, why wouldn't he..." He paused, then, hesitant. True, the emperor had set free every slave that had crossed his path while they were together, but even with the warlord and the pirate gone, many slaves still remained inside the city. He looked up at the emperor, hopeful.  
"That's... what you meant when you said you were going to mend the city, right?"  
Asmodeus' silence was its own answer. Alphonse looked at him in slowly growing dismay even as the emperor kept his gaze levelly fixed on Seth.  
"The last time I did so... I lost my wife because of it."  
Asmodeus' eyes moved slowly to Alphonse.  
Alphonse would have moved away, if that hadn't meant leaving the emperor with no support.  
"...She would have wanted you to... I would want you to."  
Asmodeus' eyes were distant.  
"Yes. Even if she had known, she would have wanted it."  
One hand raised and touched Alphonse's hair, light.  
"You and her are so alike..."  
The emperor turned to Seth again.  
"I will not lose anyone dear to me ever again. Yet, I have healed, haven't I? And, more importantly, I have a fine general now that I did not have before."  
Asmodeus smiled softly, and Seth raised his head, alert.  
"I will put an end to that miserable practice, as I should have long ago. In return, however, I expect you to make sure that oath is kept, Seth."  
"Yes, my lord!"  
The general shifted into a deep bow, and his men did so likewise, all heads lowered in respect. Asmodeus tsked and waved a hand.  
"Stand, all of you; you deserve more respect than I."  
They did, the previous tension of before broken with grins. Well, they mostly did--Seth's wound gave him a bit of trouble, the man eventually just staying where he was, tensed, until one of his men helped him up. Asmodeus laughed.  
"Ha, that's what you get for being so mean to me, after I comforted you and everything!"  
Seth smiled, sheepishly.  
"My apologies, my lord."  
"Damn right. Still... it's good to know that at least someone will be ready to keep me in line."  
Asmodeus laughed, and Seth laughed too, and then the emperor scowled.  
"Now get the hell out of my throne room and send the damn politicians back in."  
"Yes, sir!"  
A round of salutes, and then Seth and his men swept out of the room, clapping shoulders and even the emperor and Alphonse's as they passed by, until at last the doors swung shut and the two were left alone.  
Alphonse let out a sigh of relief, visibly relaxing.  
"For a moment I thought we had another war about to start," He teased, smiling as he helped the emperor to his throne, even helping him sit down while the man protested that he wasn't yet old enough to need that much help.  
The boy took a step back, gazing at Asmodeus sitting on his throne. So much had changed since they had last been like this. The emperor, sitting upon a throne of gold while he stood before him.  
"I...I suppose I should get going..."  
"Alphonse."  
The boy looked up--felt warm lips on his, soft, passionate. When the emperor pulled back at last, Alphonse found himself gasping for breath.  
"I'll see you tonight, little one."  
Looking considerably redder now than he had before, Alphonse mumbled his goodbyes and stepped past the incoming politicians, leaving a grinning Asmodeus in his wake.  
It was back to the library, then, and to the first truly celebratory day Alphonse had had in months. The fear was gone--truly gone!--and in its wake the world was lighter, brighter, a dazzling array of wonder. They didn't stay in the library long; soon he and Alex and the chattering goblins (who attracted stares wherever they went) were out enjoying the city, Alphonse truly excited for the adventure. Most of the slaves had stayed behind, with Thomas, but Liora had chosen to tag along, and by her side Alphonse felt an understanding previously he'd only shared with Luke. Yet they did not dwell on sorrows, visiting the city's finest museums and fountains and dining halls, pointing out wonders to one another as they saw them, laughter ringing out freely in the cool lake breeze.  
Despite the busyness of the city--repairs being done to damaged buildings, the fallen being mourned, preparations already being made to repair the burnt southern fields--the overall air was one of triumph, and they all enjoyed themselves very much, until at last the sky turned subtle shades of lilac and gold and the chattering group made their way back to the castle library. Then the swarm broke up, the goblins once again squabbling over who could find the best book, Liora contently saying her good nights to Alphonse before settling in close by the other slaves, Alex sitting beside Noel, grinning as he loudly appraised the books presented for him.  
Alphonse's eyes followed Liora for a moment longer, watching her curl down to sleep among the other slaves. He turned then o regard his brother instead. He was laughing and reading along with the goblins, his previous horror at killing the warlord seemingly forgotten. Good. He did not want the man to make his brother suffer as well, even in death. And this way, he would not see him go.  
He left the library unnoticed and unbothered, no soldier or servant stopping him as he walked through the now familiar halls. He knew where he was going even in the dark. Soon enough, the great wooden doors that marked the emperor's bedroom appeared before him. He pressed his hands to them, leaning forward and calling quietly, closing his eyes and shivering.  
"…Emperor?"  
"Alphonse!"  
The emperor's return cry, unmasked in joy. There was a sound of stumbling--a curse--a "do let yourself in," and Alphonse scrambled to push the door open, caught the emperor trying to claw himself back into bed from the floor. He hurriedly helped him up, Asmodeus thanking him as he at last heaved himself into bed, panting softly.  
"Dragons, that healer is going to kill me. But never mind--how was your day? I looked for you at supper and heard you'd gone into the city--and then got swamped by politicians again before I could do anything."  
He made a face, muttered under his breath.  
"Maybe I should've just let Seth take the throne. Good riddance!"  
Alphonse sat on the bed and excitedly began telling him about their day. He told him of the places they'd visited, the things they'd seen, how it remained beautiful even after the ravages of war. He told him of Luke, his brother, the goblins, and Liora. How they had enjoyed the places too, how they had felt so at ease, almost as if their past miseries had been nothing but a forgettable nightmare, as if they were all already home…  
He looked down then, towards the sheets, smiling sadly.  
"…I'd visited the city before, but to me it was always a cold, awful place… but this time… this time I enjoyed it, and… I think its because there were no slaves there to remind us of what had happened… what could still happen…"  
He reached out then, took the emperor's hand in his and squeezed it gently.  
"This is a good thing you're doing emperor… really… thank you."  
Asmodeus' fingers squeezed back, but his eyes drifted off.  
"Don't thank me. Truly. I should have done this years ago... as you said, she would never..."  
The man's voice drifted off, only to resume abruptly just as Alphonse opened his mouth.  
"Ah, but I wish I could have joined you in the city! Maybe I'll be able, before the week is out... perhaps it was for the best that the city fell so quickly. Most of the damage done was just to people's nerves; it's easy to forget, in this little lakeside garden, that the desert looms just outside, hungry and waiting. Maybe even that's for the best, though; everyone is too frazzled to make much of a fuss over their slaves being freed yet."  
He laughed and, turning, ruffled Alphonse's hair.  
"Truly you are blessed with the gods' favor, "child of green!" Much has gone your way, in the end."  
The boy looked away, visibly deflating at that even as he held that sad smile.  
"No… no, that would be my brother… if anyone's been lucky… stolen away by the same people as me yet unsold and unharmed… taken into their midst… time and time again he gets saved from hell, even at the last second…"  
He rubbed at his eyes then, laughed, his voice cracking.  
"B-but that's good i-isn't it? The gods did h-hear my prayer… t-to let me s-suffer in his s-stead," He croaked, beginning to sob despite his best attempt at keeping the sadness inside him, despite telling himself there was no reason to be sad at all, no reason to cry anymore.  
"Alphonse!"  
The emperor's arms close and warm around him, head in his hair.  
"I'm sorry. I spoke carelessly. But don't cry, dear one, the nightmare is ended. Truly ended at last."  
Alphonse let himself willingly be held, nuzzling closer to the man as he sobbed, clinging back to him and tucking his face against his chest, shaking his head.  
"N-no, I'm sorry, you're right, there is nothing to be sad about…"  
He sniffled, moving back to look up at him, smiling even as a tear slid down his cheek.  
"The nightmare is over…"  
The boy leaned in then, returning the kiss he had stolen from him back in the throne room, closing his eyes as his trembling lessened at their closeness.  
Asmodeus held him closer and returned the gesture. In a little time he twisted, boy pressed between body and bedding, but this was nothing like the aggressive pin Raphael used to rape him. It was careful and protective, the emperor's body a barrier between him and the outer world, keeping him close and safe.  
One intimacy, however, soon led to another. Their bodies pressed close, their breathing harsher, Asmodeus' hands stroking his sides as Alphonse felt the stirrings of heat. But then the emperor paused, pulled back, uncertain.  
"Would you like to return to the others?"  
For a moment the boy simply stared at him, panting.  
"I… I don't know." Finally came his breathless answer, his eyes growing dark as he turned his face away from him. He trembled, fingers curling into his clothes.  
"I want to be with you… and with the others… but I c-can't be with you for long…"  
Asmodeus pressed to him and let out a low groan of misery. From the very first to the very last he had known the boy would leave him. Yet, stupid, intoxicated with joy he'd fallen happily in love all the same, binding his heart again even as the knife of fate drew high to sever it. Alphonse would leave, and he would never see him again, and once more he would be alone.  
The very thought of it made him tremble so that the little blonde looked anxiously up, caressing his face, asking if he was okay. At that Asmodeus went still, and then he leaned in very close, fingers joining with the boy's.  
"The sun will fade and the stars will die, my dear one, and my love for you will still remain. Always and forever, stronger than the river, deeper than the sand, closer than the cold nights, fiercer than the burning days."  
A shiver started deep within Alphonse and blossomed outwards. He moved willingly beneath the man's touch as strong fingers worked loose his clothing, touched his soft skin.  
"I love you, Alphonse. I will be yours forever, no matter what shall come to pass."  
Pale trembling fingers touched his face. The emperor reached out and held Alphonse's hand in his own, against his skin, looking down at the beautiful little thing nestled beneath him. His skin was flushed despite his paleness, breath ragged even when he had barely touched him at all.  
"A-Asmodeus…" His name, so rarely spoken by those lips.  
"No matter what happens… no matter where I go… I will never forget you…"  
The boy's fingers slid up to his dark hair, and he leaned forward, warm lips pressing gently to his once more.  
Asmodeus kept that kiss for long, and moved as he did, until both he and Alphonse were bare, no clothing interrupting the closeness of their bodies. When at last they paused to breathe it was only a little space before they kissed again, Asmodeus' hands in his hair and on his back, their sexes rubbing smoothly together. It was only the faintest of pleasures, but that was just what Alphonse longer for, whimpering and melding willingly to Asmodeus' flesh as they ground together.  
Only when they had the first stirrings of stiffness did Asmodeus move further, slipping a hand between their warm stomachs and down to the boy's sex, and lower, clasping both member and sacs and rolling them softly in the palm of his hand. His head nosed to the side, ceasing the kiss at last to mouth at Alphonse's shoulder, biting without breaking skin.  
And his precious little lover arched and cried out at his touch, skin flushed, manhood growing hard against his caresses.  
Despite breaking their kiss, the boy sought him, nuzzling against his face. The emperor let out a pleased grunt as he felt Alphonse's hands pressing against his chest, slowly traveling downwards, and then coming shyly to wrap around his cock, returning his caresses. Despite his shyness, there was no denying Alphonse was no virgin, and that his previous master had trained him well. Yet at that moment he did not let those thoughts cross his mind. At that moment, finally, the warlord did not plague him. His caresses slowly gained confidence, firm but gentle, caressing the emperor in the way he had learned the man enjoyed.  
Asmodeus whined, arching on his good leg, one ripple of pleasure after another quaking through his flesh. Never had he demanded Alphonse's touches, and as such they always felt like a rapturous miracle, bliss arriving unexpected and unasked. His gentle nipping stopped, and he pressed his face affectionately back against the boy's, returning the caresses of his hand, both growing stiff together.  
When the emperor was fully swollen, he startled the young blonde by suddenly turning on to his back, exposing his hard cock and breathing fast.  
"Alphonse, please..."  
His hands touched his back and, gentle, began to guide his head downwards. It was the first time since the first day that he had pleaded with the boy to pleasure him, but unlike then, there was no force in his motions. Every movement was restrained, loose, leaving it clear to Alphonse that he had the freedom to refuse.  
And still the boy stiffened at that, his eyes widening as he let out a whimper. The emperor halted his movements at that, pulling back. He shuddered and close his eyes.  
"I-I'm sorry, Alphonse, you don't have to…"  
The boy gazed at him for a moment, that frightened uncertainty still in his eyes. Slowly his gaze traveled downwards.  
First, his fingers were back on him, warm and soft and stroking his length. Then he felt his warm breath, washing over his skin. The emperor groaned and arched as Alphonse's wet tongue pressed against his base, then slowly slid upwards to trace circles over the tip of him.  
His hands reached out again at that, first hesitantly, then more securely, fingers tangling in the blond's pale hair when he did not flinch at his touch. He cried out in bliss when Alphonse finally took him into his mouth, began gently suckling at the tip of him, slowly drawing more and more of him into his wet mouth.  
"A-Alphonse, ah--"  
It was better than the first time, because it was willing. The boy's delicate lips worked over him bit by bit, pulling his cock into a wet paradise, tongue awaiting to tease and slick him further in time with the contractions of his throat. The emperor gave voice to his bliss freely, groaning deep, but always his hips remained planted firmly against the mattress. This was Alphonse's pace to set, not his own, and he would not force himself deeper or faster than the boy felt comfortable with.  
Soon he was fully in, Alphonse nosing at the dark hair above the emperor's cock as the man's hands coiled in the bedding and the sweat rose slick upon his body. The little thing had taken him deeper than expected, and more; he began to bob slowly up and down, mimicking the motions of sex, heightening the sensations all the more. At last Asmodeus could restrain himself no further, beginning to rock his hips in the slowest time with the boy's, breathing strained. But then he did something unexpected.  
"Alphonse, w-wait."  
The man's hands were on his shoulders, guiding him, turning him gently.  
"Move around like so--yes--there."  
The boy was atop him now, unguarded sex dangling above the emperor's face, and he wasted no time in tasting it--even as two fingers caressed down the blonde's soft backside, to his entrance, stroking deep.  
A muffled cry of bliss, which soon rang out clearly as the blond atop him bucked softly, his manhood dislodging from his mouth as his back arched in surprise.  
The emperor paused for a moment to make sure his beloved was okay, but when he felt the boy pressing back against his caresses, he resumed them.  
Alphonse, for his part, almost sunk down against the emperor, with the older man holding his hips up as he pleasured him. It took him a moment, but eventually the boy began pleasuring him again--or trying to, barely managing to offer a few meager laps between moans.  
Asmodeus didn't seem to notice his lapses. The emperor was focused now solely on pleasuring him, and he performed that role exceedingly well, lips ghosting over the boy's shape, strong tongue slick on his flesh, experienced fingers kneading the heat inside him. Alphonse whimpered and wobbled needingly atop that probing hand, working to pleasure himself with little need for assistance from Asmodeus. The emperor thus had time to reach a free hand into the stand nearby, groping blindly until he found the useful salve, preparing Alphonse's soft entrance to take his size. Soon enough the boy gave a deep cry and came, and the emperor took it all before pushing himself upright, turning Alphonse around to sit him on his lap, face to face.  
At first the boy only slumped against him, regaining his strength, breath shallow and quick. But at last he looked up at him, fingers pressed softly to his chest as the two kissed again. There was no hurry in their movements, no desperate lust. The affection they held for one another existed beyond physical pleasure, and simple gestures were enough.  
In time, though, the stirrings of heat and the desire to be yet closer moved them. Alphonse spread his legs, whimpering breathily, and Asmodeus entered him with a soft grunt, their bodies rocking slowly together as their arms and heads touched and caressed.  
The sweet thing atop him let out some of the most beautiful sounds of bliss he had ever heard at that. Even restrained as they were in his shyness, Alphonse's voice encouraged him forward, his cock pulsing inside him.  
The boy meanwhile had wrapped his arms around him, tucking his head under his chin. He would have wrapped his legs around him too, if it wasn't for their current position. Instead he straddled his hips as he rode his cock, using his knees to brace himself against the bed, helping to lift his body up and then push himself down upon the man's cock to the emperor's tempo, hard little cock rubbing against Asmodeus' belly with each thrust.  
Arms locked around him, head lowered protectively over his own, Asmodeus was both there and far away. On waves of bliss he drifted to a distant shore, where the sun fell gentle on a land of green, and where he and his beloved would never be apart.  
Their rhythm grew stronger, stronger, stronger, until at last it broke, like a rising wave meeting the sand. Asmodeus hunched over Alphonse, embracing, kissing as he filled him, and as Alphonse spilled upon him in turn, their hearts dancing a frantic drumbeat within their skulls as they drifted away together. In that moment, Alphonse almost saw Asmodeus' dream, cool waves beneath his feet and gentle light and his lover strong around him...  
When the boy returned, he found himself on his side, the emperor's breath a deep lullaby against his skin. Asmodeus touched his hair and curled around him.  
"Thank you, Alphonse. Your memory will keep me strong."  
The boy said nothing in return. Could say nothing in return. Instead all he did was close his eyes and press closer to him, tucking his head back beneath the emperor's chin as he closed his eyes and regained his breath.  
This time it had felt…. different. Why? If the man had treated him the same, if he had treated the man himself the same, why had it changed? Was it because… Raphael was gone?  
His fingers curled around the man's skin. Every time he had gone into the emperor's arms, that he had let him take him, he had been running away from something, running away from him. But there was no more running to be done, was there?  
Asmodeus was still important to him, dear to him. He had saved him and protected him, he owed him so much… but despite the pleasure his movements brought him… there was no real release from him. Not like before, no light to put out the darkness, because the darkness had gone away once and for all.  
"…Me too." The blond looked up at him, spoke again.  
"I think… I'm finally strong enough to stand on my own."  
"I'm glad, dear one."

Alphonse stirred, shaking the sleeping dust out of his eyes--and was surprised to find Asmodeus still there, already bathed and dressed. He lit up upon seeing the boy, crossing the room and kissing his forehead.  
"Morning, Alphonse. I have to leave in a moment, but I needed to tell you--Egres wants to speak with you, out in the courtyard. Will you be alright going alone, or do you want me to come along?"  
The boy blinked, looking up at him.  
"Um… I can go alone but… Egres?"  
Asmodeus simply stared at him, puzzled, and Alphonse stared all the more puzzledly in return. But then the emperor laughed, realizing.  
"Ah, yes--Egres is the black dragon. His sister, Entez, is the white. They bear the names of the rivers flowing from the Great Lake."  
And the boy blinked again.  
"Oh… the black… d-dragon," He managed, looking pale.  
"Um… yes… sure… I-I'll go… talk to… it?" He stammered out, getting to his feet and stumbling his way to the bathroom, not looking sure of it at all.  
Asmodeus laughed and went after him, catching Alphonse just as he slipped into the tub.  
"I'll go with you, Alphonse. There's no need to be afraid, though. That dragon is a better being than I'll ever be, and you don't fear me, do you?"  
The boy whimpered, still not looking all that reassured.  
"You're just… not as frightening as a dragon, emperor."  
"Oh? Well, I'll have to try harder, then."  
He laughed, lunging playfully forward, making Alphonse squeak as he tickled him--then laugh as Asmodeus let out his own squeak and toppled into the tub, clothes and all.  
When both were finally dressed and dry, they took off for the courtyard. Asmodeus, compromising, was using a spear as a makeshift cane, shuffling along while trying to look as if he simply wasn't in a hurry, prompting Alphonse to giggle more then once. But the boy fell silent as they emerged at last into sunlight, shrinking partially behind Asmodeus.  
It was true that the dragon didn't look... quite... as terrifying as usual, soaking contently in the warmth like a giant cat, eyes closed and the vast tail flicking lazily beneath the lake. Yet Alphonse remembered how it had hunted in the streets, even if he'd only seen from a distance, and he shrunk down all the further as the slitted eyes opened and fixed on him.  
The massive head lifted, looming forward--but Asmodeus spoke before it did.  
"Would've been nice of you to show up YESTERDAY, during, you know, the ATTEMPTED COUP?"  
A rising roll like thunder that Alphonse imagined was laughter.   
_**Your general would not have harmed you even if you refused, and I knew you would not refuse.**_  
Asmodeus huffed, crossing his arms, and the wyrm tilted its head again towards Alphonse.  
 _ **The news I bear concerns all upon the sand, but they shall discover it in their own time. For you, child of green, time is more pressing, and so I tell you first.**_  
Asmodeus, stopping his pouting, wrapped an arm around Alphonse and looked up as the dragon rumbled.  
 _ **For long years the shadow of the great snake has fallen over this land and made it barren. In that darkness, the darkness within all hearts grew deeper. You have felt the stirrings. And you have suffered for them and for the stirring of others.**_  
Alphonse thought of shame and pain and red on his brother's hands. Asmodeus thought of red on his own hands, and of a woman with red on her hair and on her dress, screams in a red washed garden.  
The dragon's voice shook them from their thoughts, gentler than before.  
 _ **That shadow has passed, and much shall change in its wake. The southern lands will change little, but much to the north will become alive and green again. This is why I speak to you now, child of the fields and mountains. If you wait a moon before going north, you will find your companion healed and the road much softer. And then, at the end, you will find your family waiting.**_  
The boy whimpered, peering over from his hiding place behind the emperor.  
Green flashed through his mind. memories of a warm yet kind sun washing over his skin, of abundant rivers and grass and trees, of laughter and familiar faces that had been gone for far too long. And soon he would be able to have all of that back.  
"…T-thank you… really, thank you."  
 _ **Thank your friends, child. It was they who kept you alive, not me.**_  
The massive dragon settled down, lazily, eyes closing as the huge head rested once more upon the street.  
Alphonse continued to stare until Asmodeus nudged him.  
"I have to go, Alphonse, so why don't you rejoin your friends? I'll see you tonight."  
The boy nodded, smiling briefly up at the emperor before running off. When he got to the library, a short time later, what he saw wasn't what he was expecting.  
Former slaves and Thomas' crew had formed two facing lines across from one another, all looking very official, and at the end of them stood the goblins in smart ranks with Noel, Girik, and Mirin at their head. Alex was before them, kneeling.  
"And so today we dub you... sigh... an honorary member of the goblins, even though, frankly, it's a terrible idea--"  
Mirin tripped Girik smoothly and continued loudly over his swearing.  
"Alex, you have come far since you first joined our troupe. You have proven yourself time and time again and saved our lives to boot. Thus, we are pleased to say you have earned your very own mask!"  
Noel bent down to lift forth something from a velvet covered basket, and suddenly Mirin was intensely fidgety.  
"Although, w-well, we only had a few weeks to get it ready--usually it takes years--but, w-well, hopefully it's not too embarrassing looking--!"  
She covered her eyes at the same time that Noel drew a marvelous mask from the basket. Made of shaped and polished wood, reinforced with lacquer and smooth as skin, it was the face of a wild cat, teeth bared in a hellish grin and wide silver rims for eyes. It was at once both foreign and familiar, the image of Alex snarling and getting protectively between him and his many enemies coming unbidden to Alphonse's mind at the sight.  
Noel stepped forward, presenting the mask to Alex and smiling kindly.  
"Our masks are forged in the sea, but this one was forged in the river that will lead you and your brother home. I think it fits you, Alex."  
Alex reached out with shaky hands, staring at the mask as he held it. A moment later he had surged forward, drawing as many goblins as he could into a tight embrance.  
"Thank you! Noel, Mirin—Everyone! I will keep it with me forever!" Girik protested as he was swept into that hug, but Alex extended his thanks to him—yes, even him, and the circle erupted in laughter.  
Alphonse watched from the door as his brother embraced the very group that had brought him into slavery. Yes, but they had also saved him as well—if not for them, that dark haired man would have caught him and his brother weeks before Raphael had reached the city, and then… then he doubted his brother would ever be able to smile and laugh the way he was doing now.  
Despite knowing that, something in his chest still tightened painfully at the sight. His eyes swept over the group. Thomas and Luke were also there, but… Eyes trailed away from the congregation, and to the lone sparkle of white to the side. Slowly, that awful feeling in his chest left, and he moved forward.  
"Liora!" His voice was drowned under the other's cheers and laughter, but somehow she heard him either way. She turned to him and smiled, and a smile blossomed across his face too.  
"How are you?"  
At his words the girl went a few shades redder, shrinking into her cloak slightly. It still felt so strange, being spoken to like a person, after all those months alone in a dark room--  
"Liora?"  
His worried voice snapped her out of the past, and she took a few steps closer, smiling shyly.  
"I'm f-fine, thank you Alphonse! I was looking for you earlier... did you go into the city?"  
Alphonse blinked, and then his cheeks went red, his eyes trailing away from her and to the floor as he fidgeted where he stood.  
"Y-you were looking for me? I-I was…um, yes, I was just, walking around the city… and…. and… I was just w-wondering… maybe you would like to come too?—With me and the others! There are still many things to see—and we could even find a place with frozen cream! I know there must be some… around here…" At those last words his excitement seemed to die down for a moment. He had had frozen cream in this city before. When the warlord had bought him some in a failed attempt to cheer him up after— He shuddered, looking away for a moment before his eyes rose to meet hers, and then the smile returned. Smaller, but there nonetheless.  
"…I had some once… back home, from a visiting merchant… it's really great, I'm sure you'd love it!"  
Liora had gone a deep red herself at his invitation, blushing and stammering so profusely that she didn't notice the sudden pain upon him.  
"I-I-I'd love to go! T-Thank you, Alphonse!"  
At that word his brother looked up and, spotting him, grinning, pounced. Soon with a multitude of squeaks both were buried under goblins, and thus it was decided with little choice on Alphonse's part that they'd be joining in on the trip to the city. This time, most of the slaves and a handful of Thomas' workers joined as well, although the man himself regretfully had to pass and Luke elected to stay beside him--at least until his chiding cousin insisted he go.  
"I've seen the whole stupid place a hundred times, Luke, go have fun and bring us back some frozen cream, too."  
Liora had begun to let her hair show within the safety of the library, but she withdrew fully within her new cloak before they entered the streets. In proud contrast was Alex, donning his new mask and looking fierce for it. At first it stirred a dull ache within Alphonse, but as passerby looked pointedly away from his brother's terrible visage and instead focused hungry gazes on his softness, he began to long for a mask, too. Thankfully, all thoughts of this nature dissipated when Liora had her first taste of frozen cream, her sweet shrills of delight and the echoing ones of the slaves making the whole group laugh, and after that the trip through the city had the fast frenetic joy of a carnival. When Alphonse and the others limped home well after dark, laden with freshly packed containers of frozen cream for Thomas, he thought of nothing but tomorrow and another day spent with his brother and Luke and Liora. When she chose to settle for sleep in a couch near his, he found himself staring at her all too embarrassingly long until Girik asked if they'd made out yet, at which point he squeaked and turned over on his couch and Mirin punched the offending goblin, hard. Sleep came soon after, his dreams light and peaceful.  
In his bedroom, alone, the emperor wondered why the boy hadn't come. When he discovered him safely asleep, and the girl beside him, he understood too well.

The weeks passed quickly, even if Thomas healed slowly. The freeing of the slaves triggered ripples within the country that, playing and passing through as they were, Alphonse and his companions hardly noticed, but others did. The former slaves were given a year's worth of housing and rations paid for from the emperor's treasuries himself, and from there many sought out work and pay strengthening the city's defenses and cultivating the southern fields beyond it. Many had been slaves since birth, and knew of little life beyond that which they had while tending their masters. It was for this reason that Luke, and to as much extent as he could Thomas, began to educate the former slaves in writing, business, the arts, faith--all they could, spreading the prosperity and wisdom of the greenlands down to them. Once the elation of freedom calmed Alphonse found himself and Alex and Liora joining in, the girl proving she'd known much before her enslavement, talking with Alphonse into the late hours about the wonders of animals and plants and people and medicine. The stories she fed him, of a race of people with white hair and red eyes torn asunder by a great demon, whet his appetite for wonder--and his stories of a land soft and living and green whet her appetite for a home. They spent the days increasingly close alongside one another, and Asmodeus, busy with the weight of resurrecting a city, did nothing but watch and wish the boy happiness.  
The emperor wasn't the only one changing, however.  
It was about three weeks after their salvation, Thomas well on the way to being fully healed, that Alphonse looked up from his evening return to the library to see an unpleasantly familiar figure approaching through the gloom.   
Alphonse moved instinctively between the girl and the intruder, eyes narrowed, body tensed. It was only them, coming back from a peaceful walk together; everyone else was either still out or already at the library, and the great dragon, asleep for the moment within the lake's depths, wouldn't likely hear a scream. If the bastard tried anything, it'd be up to--  
"I'm sorry."  
That was unexpected, to the point where Alphonse actually raised an eyebrow as the young prince bowed his head before him. He'd seen very little of Asmodeus' nephew since their rescue--much to his relief--and had expected that when he did see him again, he'd be much unchanged. Yet the unhappy boy before him no longer gave off the conceited, lecherous air of before, face looking truly remorseful as he inclined his head further and further.  
"What I did... what I let be done... I'm sorry."  
Even then, the blond remained between the prince and Liora, although his eyes strayed away from the younger boy, narrowing.  
"What's done is done, and there is nothing you can do to change it." A hiss, and the prince shuddered in response, closing his eyes. Alphonse raised his gaze, back to the other boy, eyes narrowed.  
"One day, you will be the emperor of this country… if you really want my forgiveness, then make sure you take care of what's about to be built here." With that the blond took Liora's hand in his, strode hastily forward and past the prince, not giving him another glance and not wanting to be with him a second more.  
Ezekiel watched him and said nothing until he had gone. Then, head bowed, he said only two words.  
"I will."

Two more days passed, and then Asmodeus himself--work now mostly finished, as far as all day consuming activities were considered--appeared to Alphonse in the library one afternoon and asked if he'd care to join him for lunch in the garden. The boy perked up, but then turned to his now ever present companion, asked if she might come, too.  
So innocent, even now, the emperor thought, even as he agreed. He'd had no intent to make the meal intimate anyway. That time, it seemed, had slipped through his hands like sand.  
The respite was a pleasant one, spices and meat wrapped in light breads with fruit accompanying, and as they shared it Alphonse also shared all manner of stories about his trips through the city with his friends. The girl, although shy, chipped in every now and then as well, and inevitably her words brought a smile to Alphonse's face. How different he looked, now, how bright his eyes, how free his happiness. Almost without meaning to, Asmodeus said what he thought.  
"You really can stand on your own, now, Alphonse."  
The boy blinked, startled at his sudden words, some color rising to his cheeks. Then he looked away, and smiled sadly as he did so.  
"T-thank you… really, I could never thank you enough…. this, all of this… it is all thanks to you. Me, Luke, my brother, the others… we're all able to stand and move forwards thanks to you…"  
Asmodeus shook himself as if rousing from sleep. He seemed ready to say one thing, changed his mind, said another.  
"You are welcome, Alphonse. But, truly, you've helped me to stand and walk forward as well. Thank you."  
A smile graced his lips even as his eyes fell to the table.  
"Your companion is nearly healed. I trust you will be leaving soon?"  
Liora stiffened at that, began to suddenly fiddle intensively with her utensils.  
Alphonse seemed to shrink at those words, further trapped between the feelings of happiness and sadness.  
"Yes…. we will probably be going next week, if things keep going well… home has never felt so close. I can barely wait to be back… and at the same time…" His words trailed off, never finishing the sentence. Slowly, his hand reached out, seeking the emperor's. The sound of metal raking against the floor made him pause before their skin could touch, and Alphonse turned towards Liora, whose fork had fallen to the floor.  
"Liora? Are you alright?"  
"I-I'm fine! Clumsy me!" Liora squeaked in a way that didn't sound fine at all.  
Asmodeus, meanwhile, stared fixedly at the boy's hand. So close. An inch a mile wide. If he just moved, he could feel that soft warm skin again. He could take it and beg him to stay. He could offer him safety and comfort and above all else love. He could convince him to try to pursue his family was foolishness. He could keep him, he would keep him, by the gods! He would not lose his dear one again. Even if he had to use force--  
Asmodeus stood abruptly.  
"I'm sorry, Alphonse, but I just remembered something I must attend to. Feel free to stay here as long as you like; the servants will clean up when you depart."  
Alphonse and Liora paused mid-fussing, Alphonse leaning worriedly forward, Liora leaning shyly away, to blink at him. Asmodeus inclined his head slightly and then was gone, striding away over the courtyard grass. Alphonse watched him go unhappily for a moment before starting, turning back to Liora.  
"No, really, what's wrong?"  
"Nothing, really!"  
And no amount of pressing on his part would get any other answer from her. The day passed as normal, and when at the end of it she fell into sleep close beside him, Alphonse decided it really was nothing and drifted off after her.  
The next morning, however, something was amiss, and that something was Liora. She wasn't there beside him, and with everyone else still asleep, no one could have seen where she went. Anxiously Alphonse set off along the castle halls, inquiring of guards and servants if they'd seen anything, and luckily he got an answer quite soon. She'd been seen going into the gardens, and that was where he went in pursuit of her.  
His heart lifted as, turning around a heavy shrub, he caught sight of her--and then just as quickly it fell again, and deeper than before.  
She was there, yes, but so was the general. Sitting across from one another at a small table, his mended hand holding hers, the two were deep in conversation, too low for him to hear. And then suddenly they moved forward into a strong embrace.  
For a moment he just stood there, wide eyed and staring. Then he turned and walked away, fingers curling into the fabric of his own shirt and wondering why it suddenly felt hard to even breathe.  
He had been so happy to find her, and now he wasn't? Why? He should be happy even if just for her sake. Asmodeus' general seemed to be from the same place as her. Liora had always been sad about her loneliness, her people slaughtered, her hair a mark that she felt like hiding from the world. With the general, she would not be alone, and there would be no need to hide.  
He found himself leaning heavily against one of the castle pillars, sliding down to the floor as his breathing became harsher and harsher. Gasping, he looked up, found himself in the hall that led to the emperor's bedroom, raised a shaky hand.  
"H-help me...!"  
There was no answer. There wasn't even the slightest noise. And why should there be? The only one Asmodeus held meetings in his bedroom with was him. And he had chosen another. The emperor had no reason to stay and be his second choice.  
The tears came as he slumped there, breath coming all too fast and yet not coming at all, visions of Liora and Asmodeus spiraling through his mind, twisting together into Raphael's face, laughing.  
I was the only one who could have loved you.  
"Alphonse!"  
Someone screaming his name, distorted. Faces bubbled up out of the darkness around him, Liora's and Asmodeus', Alex and Luke and Thomas. The emperor drew him into strong arms and stroked his back, babbling something. Seeing them only made it hurt more. He had broken the emperor as Liora had broken him, without so much as a thought. And the girl? Why on earth should she care for him? He was nothing but a weak little whore. Even with his training he hadn't been able to save himself or anyone else. He would never be able to protect her.  
Her face pulled close to his, sobbing, screaming, and her voice rang sudden and sharp in his thoughts.  
"Don't d-die, Alphonse, don't d-die! I want to see green with you! I want to be with you! I love you, Alphonse, please--"  
Another sharp breath, Alphonse trying even more desperately to draw breath at her words. The emperor's hands stroked his back and his voice reminded him to calm down, to breathe slow and deep. He shuddered, closing his eyes and relaxing as best as he could in the man's arms, trying again to breathe but slower. Inhale, exhale.  
It was a long minute before Alphonse's breathing was regular enough that the ones surrounding him could stop worrying about his imminent death, Liora still sobbing by his side. He finally opened his eyes, looking up at her, staring for a long moment before he spoke.  
"Y-you love me?" Another sob, the girl blushing even as she nodded.  
Alphonse blushed too, kept clutching at his chest, looking at her as if in a daze. However, that daze was broken as he remembered the reason for his sudden attack.  
"B-but… you and… a-and the captain..."  
"The captain?" She echoed, blankly. Alphonse felt his chest tighten again; how could she not recall what had just happened, unless she meant to conceal it--  
She started so strongly that she actually lifted off the floor.  
"The general--Seth--he's my b-brother! I've made excuses not to speak to him all this time, because I didn't want to hear what I knew I would, but I did at l-last and--it's him, he's the brother I thought died long ago. We're the only ones left. But even if there were others, I'd want to go with you."  
Liora seemed to realize just now how frightfully honest her words were. All the blood in her body rose to her face and she abruptly retreated under her hood. Thomas laughed.  
"Congratulations, on both counts!"  
And with Alphonse safe and the new hilarity of the situation dawning on them Alex and Luke grinned too, crowding around, cheering and clapping.   
Alone in his expressionless remained Asmodeus, holding the boy steady in his arms.  
Alphonse shivered, eyes wide, his breath now coming strained for different reasons.  
"Y-you do? I… I-I want to see green with you too, Liora!" He too realized what he was saying, squeaked and covered his reddened face with his own hands.  
The body holding him close shuddered, and suddenly he stiffened, realizing what he was doing.  
Slowly he pulled his hands off his face, eyes downwards.  
"I… I'm feeling better now… but there's something else I have to do… would you wait for me in the library?…All of you?" A few confused looks, other knowing ones were exchanged, but eventually his friends and family nodded, left him behind, alone in the emperor's arms.  
Alphonse did not dare look at him, instead shuddered silently in his hold, until finally they were all gone.  
"I-I'm sorry…. I'm so sorry…"  
"Don't be, dear one. Love without regret. I wish you both a long and happy life."  
The emperor's arms were so warm around him, such a gentle embrace. Yet it hurt as much as anything and soon Asmodeus released him and let go, stepping back.  
"You feel well? Will you be alright getting to the library?"  
But the boy did not seem comforted at his words, gave no indication that he had heard them. Instead he turned around to face him, tears in his eyes, finally forcing himself to look at him.  
"E-Emperor… Asmodeus… I love you, I do love you, but not as you would l-love me… I-I knew that, and yet… I-I used you… I used you t-to make myself feel better… I'm s-sorry, you deserve so much better," He croaked, bowing his head before him as he sobbed.  
"Dear one, don't weep."  
Pain in his voice, for his sake, and he touched the side of his face gently.  
"You had suffered so much with so little hope. I don't begrudge you seeking comfort in me. Rather, truly, I have much to thank you for. I meant it when I said you helped me walk again, Alphonse."  
Tears still in his eyes, the boy forced himself to look up at him, pressing his cheek into his hand. Now Asmodeus bore the look of guilt.  
"In my own way... I used you, too. My wife... I still miss her... every day... but with you, I could close my eyes and feel your warmth and pretend..."  
A shuddering breath.  
"In time, my affection for you has become its own life. Yet even so I thank you. You reminded me of my duty. Long have I abused those beneath me, squandered my power... you loathed it... and she would have, too. It was your gentleness that reminded me what gentleness was. That there was still something worth saving in this damnable desert. So, again, thank you. You've worked so hard, Alphonse. I know you and her will make it. Find your family, and be happy, Alphonse. You, of all, deserve it most."  
The emperor inclined his head, deeply, a bow of respect he had never granted before. And then without looking back he turned and moved away down the corridor.  
Alphonse watched as the emperor's shape got farther and farther away, trembled.  
"T-thank you!" He cried out weakly, but the man heard him either way, coming to a halt for one moment before he kept advancing away without him.  
Alphonse watched him go until he was gone, then rubbed at his eyes and wiped away his tears, trying his best to quiet down his sobs and take away the red from his face as he got up and walked away.  
But despite his best efforts, the red returned as soon as he made it to the library, when his brother, and soon all the other occupants of the place began making cheering sounds at him and Liora. Despite wanting to run away and crawl into a hole in shame, he shuffled forward, until he had reached Liora herself. The girl looked about as ready as him to bolt away.  
Yet he sat by her side, took her hands, looked deeply into her eyes and gulped nervously.  
"L-Liora I... I-I love you too!"  
And that, of course, was the beginning of the end. Liora squeaked and went redder, Alphonse squeaked and went redder, and this continued until both had gone such a dangerously vibrant shade of scarlet that their comrades felt compelled to rescue them. This, of course, was done by rising chants of "kiss, kiss, kiss!" until at last in desperation the two fled the library entirely, chased by a crowd of cheering supporters. When they were outside the castle the giggling group finally dispersed, pretending to lose sight of them and drifting off towards Thomas' bakery in order to "search" for them--and for breakfast. With the pursuers off their tail, Alphonse and Liora relaxed, walking hand in hand through the soft light until they reached a shaded group of trees close beside the lake. Yet even when they'd found a comfortable bench neither could think of something to say, squirming silently, until at last with every bit of courage she had Liora kissed Alphonse on the cheek--and he answered with a kiss on the lips. After that they said nothing, but they didn't need to, resting against one another and fully content.  
The week went quickly after that. Supplies for the journey (and mules for the mountains, although this was kept secret) were packed for the journey in special carriages designed to be pulled along by the great dragon's tail. In the meantime, it seemed the time that had taken too long to arrive had now arrived too quickly. Alphonse looked at the city and the library most of all with a certain sorrow, tracing the covers of books he'd never see again. Liora, meanwhile, spent what time she wasn't with Alphonse with Seth. It was a bittersweet reunion. Her mother, pregnant with her, had been separated from the others by a brutal storm, and both groups after much fruitless searching had assumed the others dead. Their parents were gone, but here they were, reunited at last only to be separated. Aside from the pain of that unexpected parting, the general was recovering quite well. His broken hand had mended now, and while his other arm was still not fully usable, it got stronger every day and it was expected that his scars would be the only permanent damage.  
The others were busy with their own pursuits. Alex spent every waking moment with the goblins, fully aware that he was soon to part from them. Thomas, meanwhile, handed over ownership of his bakery to a young man named Collin, giving him all the coveted exotic recipes he'd brought in return for the promise that, for the next ten years, he would hire only former slaves and others in dire need to work there. Luke assured Thomas Collin was a kind man, and Thomas soon came to agree. The reason for this passing on was that, now that slavery was abolished, his staff had chosen to accompany him to the greenlands, a statement that in short order had reduced him to happy tears. With that taken care of, he and Luke had begun final preparations to wrap up their teaching seminars and leave both their knowledge and their newly formed church in the hands of kind hearted others.  
During this time, Alphonse caught passing glimpses of Ezekiel and his two lovers--all three looked happy, and the boy looked as if he really were making efforts to be a better future ruler--but of the emperor himself, there was no sign.  
And then the day of departure came.  
How strange it was, Alphonse thought, that this land he'd so hated now held so many warm memories. Standing there at the city gates, looking back as his companions shared tearfully happy goodbyes and the rest of the wagons were lashed on to Entez' tail with heavy rope, he saw many faces he affectionately remembered.  
There was Seth, hugging his sister goodbye; Alphonse remembered his encouraging words when he'd been training, and how he'd rushed out to battle against his enemies, roaring like a sandstorm. There was Collin, grinning and shaking hands with Thomas and Luke, a fond farewell to those he'd tried to protect and comfort. There, too, were various servants he'd come to know well, including those he'd later found had called for help when Lucian had attacked. Even the other little prince, the one Maeve had stolen, was there with his equally tiny wife; he was still not entirely over the departure of his mistress, Alphonse'd heard, but he was coming around to a life of freedom.  
And beyond all of them was a great crowd of former slaves, smiling, crowding forward to shake his hand, thanking him for setting them free. It was with much blushing and more than a few tears that Alphonse said goodbye to all these, but even as he did so he looked, and didn't find the one he looked for.  
At length the commotion was broken by a great roar, Entez signaling that all was ready. With a last round of goodbyes they all clamored to the wagons, goblins and cooks, former slaves and friends, until Alphonse alone remained outside. He took a step forward, uncertain--and paused.  
"Farewell, Alphonse. May the gods of the green lands watch over you always."  
He turned, and there was the emperor, giving him an honest smile.  
Alphonse was only still for a moment, looking at him as if he were a mirage. A moment later he bolted forward, slamming heavily against the emperor. Asmodeus had to struggle not to fall to the floor and take the both of them down. Alphonse wrapped his arms tightly around him and buried his face against his chest, choking down a sob and shuddering against him. He did not love him the same way as he, but he loved him nonetheless, and he knew for certain this would be the last time he ever saw the man again.  
Slowly, reluctantly, he let go of the man, pulling back and sniffling, forcing a smile onto his lips as he looked up at him.  
"G-goodbye, emperor… may this kingdom prosper long under your reign… I will always remember it fondly because of you."  
An exasperated sigh echoed behind them, and a moment later Alex had gotten off the caravan and walked forward, glared at the emperor for a moment before giving him a tight yet very brief hug, then moving back and glaring at him again.  
"Take care I guess," He grumped, then made his way back to the caravan.  
Asmodeus had to blink several times to comprehend what had happened, and then he clapped his hand dramatically over his heart.  
"Oh, I'm touched! Even Alex thinks well of me. Best leave quickly, Alphonse, the world is probably ending."  
Alphonse laughed even as he wiped tears from his eyes. When he looked up Asmodeus was once more smiling gently down at him.  
"And I will always remember you, Alphonse. Thank you for reminding me what it is to live."  
The blonde hesitated--and then he threw himself at the emperor again, the two embracing, Asmodeus taking in that wild green scent for the last time. Then he walked side by side with the boy to the caravans, helping him in to his brother's wagon, looking up at the dragon beyond as he did so.  
"You'd better take damn well good care of him, Entez! Of all of them!"  
A pleased affirmative rumble from the beast. Still smiling, Asmodeus met Alphonse's eyes again.  
"May happiness and peace follow you all the days of your life, dear one."  
And then the dragon was off. A sinuous lurch and abruptly the sand was speeding away beneath them, the great city of the lake dwindling until it was nothing but a toy, and the silhouettes of the emperor and the crowd toy figures within. Asmodeus watched until the wyrm had completely vanished from sight, long after the folk had dispersed, he and Seth alone before the gate. The general turned towards the other, eyebrow cocked.  
"My lord, are you crying?"  
"Oh, shut up, Seth, it's just damn sand in my eye."  
"Then perhaps, my lord, we should get out of the sand."  
The emperor offered no objections, and the two walked side by side through pale moonlight towards the castle. Before they reached it, Seth clapped a hand to his lord's shoulder.  
"Her majesty would be so happy. That boy really did save you, didn't he?"  
"That he did."  
Quiet again, both going still, until Asmodeus turned and offered the vast sand a final smile.  
"Thank you, Alphonse."

For the speed at which they were traveling, the journey was surprisingly comfortable. The rhythmic undulations of the wyrm brought to mind the gentle rocking of a boat, and Alphonse was content to lie quietly between Luke and a sleeping Liora, listening to his brother laugh and quietly exchange stories with the goblins. After a time they fell silent, but in their wake, a new sound arose. The great dragon had begun to sing.  
It was a strange melody, at times haunting, at times soothing. In the deep rumbles and breathy sighs Alphonse could see the desert as it once was, and would be again. Wind rocked gently over sandy hills, building and burying, building and burying, an art of eras. Animals and people grew strong shells and soft insides, the pulse of their hearts a war cry, preserving bravely alongside one another in the face of impossible odds. And through it all ran the bloodlines of the river, carrying life to and away, an endless flow of souls. So mesmerizing was the dragon's lullaby that it wasn't until it stopped that Alphonse realized they had stopped as well.  
 _ **Little ones, this is as far north as I travel. Your path lies east, but I continue west.**_  
"Yah, yah, I KNOW!" Girik snapped. Then there was a great flurry of activity as goblins and birds and supplies were unloaded and readied for transport. The birds especially seemed most happy to have sand beneath their feet again--all except Alex's, which remained firmly seated inside the caravan with no intent of going anywhere its master wasn't.  
When all was ready, the goblins lined up, facing Alex and the others looking out from the caravans. Girik stuck his hand out roughly towards Alex.  
"So, uh, later. You weren't so bad for a heathen, I guess--"  
He was interrupted by a sudden wailing from Mirin, who threw herself desperately on to Alex, and then all the goblins were sweeping up around him, clinging and crying, Girik yelling at them from somewhere in the center. When at last they pulled back, bubbling goodbyes, Mirin was the last to speak, sniffling.   
"Good... good bye, Alex. Thank you, for everything."  
"May God protect you and your companions long, my friend," Noel said after, voice gentle.  
Alex laughed, wiping a single tear from his eyes before he moved forward, gathered Mirin and Noel and as many other goblins into another embrace as he could, the remaining soon surging forward once more. They ignored Girik's insistent screaming until finally, the blond let them go.  
"Thank you, everyone, I'll always remember you… Noel, Mirin, make sure you keep Girik out of trouble," He said, turning away from them and wiping at his face when none of them could see.  
He got back onto the caravan, by his bird's side, gently petting the animals's plumage before turning back to the goblins, waving and smiling.  
More broken sobbing. At that moment Alphonse really did see that they were children. But they knew what had to be done nonetheless, and with a last flurry of waves they kicked their animals into race, the group speeding away faster than any beast save a dragon, flat wagons teetering along behind them, waving all the while. The wyrm began to move again then, the gap between both parties growing wider and wider until at last they saw nothing but the sand. Alex now bore the same look of melancholy as his twin, and the two pressed close together in the wagon as the beast hauling them resumed its song. It was to that melody that Alphonse soon drifted off, warm and safe among friends.

"Alphonse! Alphonse, wake up!"  
Stirring, he rubbed reluctantly at his eyes--sat bolt upright as green rather than dune swept by beyond them. Grass, fields and more fields, gently swaying as far as the eye could see. He and Luke laughed and embraced, and then pulled their kin in too, and then at last Alphonse hugged a wide eyed Liora tightly close.  
"Just wait until you see the trees!"  
A few minutes later the first appeared, and within a half hour whole forests swept up around them, lush and breathing. The dragon's pace was remarkable even before, but now with more solid landmarks than desert and plain to measure it by, his speed was truly stunning. The landscape whirred past them in a blur of vibrant life, until at last the mountains reared strong and protective above them and the land looked heavenly familiar. Then at last the dragon stopped, rumbling.  
 _ **My travel ends here, dear ones, but yours is just beginning. Your families have already departed over the mountains. Take what time you need, then follow. You will find them on the other side. Godspeed and happiness to you all.**_  
The wagons were removed then, the donkeys unloaded, the whole group giving thanks to the great dragon and a few bold souls even affectionately patting his tail. When this was done, and all was ready, Alphonse looked forward and breathed deep.  
There before him stretched the open fields and winding rivers of home, the sweet green shade, the bright moon over the mountains, a sky clearer than any desert lake even in the darkness. Luke and Thomas stood to one side of him, Liora and Alex the other, all looking at him, grinning. He took another deep breath and smiled.  
"Everyone, let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to all those who have patiently read this long story from start to end! It's far from perfect, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! :)
> 
> Hindsight is always 20/20 (especially when you're writing for fun and not being super-strict in your plotting), so it's easy to see now the things I would have liked to improve on. If I ever go back and really polish this (which is unlikely, but hey, stranger things have happened!), I'd like to elaborate a lot more on some of the less-developed bits of the story; the mythology of it, how the dragons and rivers and the desert and mountains all tie together, but also more earthy things like WHY the goblins are a roving band of children, more of the how and why behind Raphael's fall into darkness (and relationship with Lucian), Maeve and Asmodeus' history together... the significance of white hair, and the like. For now, though, please just ask if you're curious. Or just leave a comment if you really enjoyed what you read! Knowing people like my writing is what keeps me going, after all. :)
> 
> Oh, and speaking of, the fun doesn't stop here! Upcoming next, maybe in this order and maybe not:  
> > An alternate bad ending  
> > A few unfinished chapters that were meant to take place if Raphael had left the city after his first scuffle with Asmodeus, and gone to the southern mountains as planned; I ended up cutting them out, but if I return to this story someday, they'd probably be a good place for all that plumping up I wanted to do!  
> > An epilogue revealing what happens to Asmodeus after Alphonse's departure  
> > AND MORE! But ALSO another brand new story separate from AMOG, another super gay story that contains language differences, suppressed magic, and a nice slow burn.
> 
> So stay tuned! And thanks again for reading! :) <3


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